


Dishonour Among Thieves

by Rejuvenescenceia



Series: Wicked Games - A Sherlock Holmes AU [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Omnics, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes AU, Blood and Violence, Gun Violence, Human B.O.B., Human Bars, Human Lynx Seventeen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rejuvenescenceia/pseuds/Rejuvenescenceia
Summary: The ghosts of the past don't want to stay dead. As an old familiar face comes to Jesse seeking help, he and Gabriel have to help hunt down a violent offender bent on revenge.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Wicked Games - A Sherlock Holmes AU [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1519064
Comments: 19
Kudos: 18





	1. Before the Squall

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year!

> _ Los Angeles, California - August 2001 _

Satisfaction. Pride. Adrenaline fueled excitement. A job was a high hitting in his veins stronger than any needle full of Mexican Horse could manage. His entire world was coming together, as though he was bent over a table guiding puzzle pieces into their perfect, proper places,  _ snap snap snap _ , without the slightest bit of a snag or misshape.

In times like these Jesse McCree felt immortal, like not even a bullet could put him down. It certainly wouldn’t be the police or the FBI. But even if he was going to age, change, waste away, legends didn’t die. This was just a piece of that legacy. Who said the West was dead?

He knew he ought to be humble, that hubris could wear a mountain down as easily as the wind of the desert. But seventeen wasn’t always such a logical number. Seventeen was confidence fueled by a mighty ego. Seventeen was limitless possibilities that were just getting started.

There was a brief crackle in his ear, the sound sending an unpleasant drag down his spine, like a sharp nail, before he could hear Bars’s soft, low drawl in his ear. Everyone in the back of the panel van grew silent, waiting to hear what he had to say.

_ “Silent alarm is cut.” _

And right on time, as well, a small blue ‘95 Toyota Camry pulled up into the parking lot. Because of the darkness he couldn’t see who was driving immediately through the window of the car, but he wasn’t disappointed to see a woman step out of the vehicle.

_ Step seven down. _

Padma Yadav. Overseer for this particular location, called in due to a fake plant phone call, thanks to one of their people being a well-trained mimic. As she went she was digging in her handbag for keys, and paused just once to answer her cell phone. 

Jesse turned to his right. Ashe was there, watching back, her pink-red eyes focused above the yellow bandanna around her mouth. She nodded in response to his unasked question. He looked to his left. Dominic O’Brien, five years his senior with about five inches of height on him, nodded back. His eyes were an ice cold blue, the kind that put you in mind of a crevasse on a glacier, or that cold deep blue of water at the bottom of a cenote. 

“Alright,” he said through his own bandanna. “Time to get a move on.”

Dominic was the first to move, opening the panel door silently enough as he turned to address the rest of their people. “You lot move to the service door. We’ll be there to guide you in. Stick to the plan, no going the extra mile.”

“You heard the man,” said Ashe. “And boys, don’t fuck it up this time.”

That last was intended for the triplets, a well-meaning but idiotic bunch who’d joined Deadlock. They could take an order like nothing else, at least, which was probably why they’d followed Ashe into the gang. But Jesse already insisted Bob was going to be with them as a babysitter, and Bars was doing over watch support with his guy. 

_ Chess pieces, moving on the board.  _

As the pawns moved to the service door, accompanied by their rook, Jesse, Ashe and Dom moved to the front doors. It was unfortunate the metaphor didn’t fit with the three of them.

Yadav was still digging in her handbag when they came up from behind, a coin purse jingling as she dug furiously, cellphone pinched between her shoulder and ear.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be home as soon as I can be, it seems like just a small hiccup with the security systems. Well, tell Arjun if he doesn’t go to bed he can forget about getting ice cream with his friend tomorrow. I’ll be home later to give him a kiss. Yes. Goodnight,  _ baalam. _ ”

She righted herself, keys in hand, and snapped her phone shut and stowed it away. She didn’t seem aware of her surroundings as she unlocked the first set of glass doors The second it was open, Ashe cocked her Winchester.

There was a moment as the woman froze. Her eyes rose, seeing the dim reflections in the glass door behind her before she whirled, wide eyed, to see the three of them in their bandanas. It was Ashe that spoke up first.

“Now, you best not be disappointing yer boy or yer man, Mrs. Yadav,” said Ashe, her voice calm and deceptively soothing. “Why don’t we just walk the rest of the way in, calm like, hm?”

For a moment Jesse wondered if she would faint, if he’d misjudged her when he’d been vetting employees, but then Yadav stood up straighter, fear evident in her eyes, and nodded. 

“There is no money here,” she said, voice trembling. “This is not a bank, this is-”

“I know exactly what’s in here, ma’am,” said Jesse, his voice reassuring. “And if you get along with us, we’ll be in and out. No fuss, no muss, and nobody gets hurt.”

“And don’t worry about trying to trip that alarm, gorgeous,” said Dominic, his voice deep and pleasant. As he moved past Jesse to hold the door open - and make sure she saw the .45 called Diamondback Jesse had custom made him in his hand - he gave Jesse a wink. “We’ve already taken care of that. We just need you to get us past that fancy biometrics reader, and we’d really rather keep those parts on you.”

Yadav moved as she was told, going to the first alarm system. Anti-burglar. She had tears in her eyes as she raised a shaking hand to the number pad. Jesse hoped the lone security guard was still enjoying his nap, thanks to the drugged food they’d sent him as a ‘present’ from his employers.

_ 3302. _

The next set of doors unlocked, letting them into the building. Even if she’d attempted to trip the alarm the call wouldn’t go through. 

_ Step eight down. _

The building was rented by Vishkar, their main offices still in development. This place was a holdover, a bookmark, albeit a fancy bit of property for a temporary location. Beyond some R&D, Jesse knew this building wasn’t much more than a little cache that the CEO had decided to use to sequester her things. Even the safe they were after wasn’t yet set in its final destination, which was why Jesse had chosen to hit it. Easier to do a job when it wasn’t downtown, if perhaps not  _ as _ challenging.

There’d been bragging in The Daily Telegraph, as well as a few other blogs, about the brilliant mind behind Vishkar, Himani Basu. Of course, she no doubt  _ was _ a genius, ahead of everyone else by several decades with her advanced building techniques and materials she’d developed. Vishkar was a powerhouse, and all eyes were on India and Himani Basu.

That meant Jesse’s were, as well. And it wasn’t even because she was apparently a gifted architect and engineer, an intellectual prodigy like himself. It was entirely because he’d learned she was also the youngest chess player to ever have been awarded the title grandmaster, and that she held a nearly one hundred win streak at her level. Cap it off with a small brag she’d made about an unbreakable vault system and she had hooked herself one opponent.

A game was a game. Jesse had the urge to beat her at one, even if he’d never met her. Learning that vault was in easy reach in Los Angeles just sealed the deal.

The Vishkar building was bright, shiny, white, like something out of a Star Wars film. Jesse followed along behind Yadav, eyes mostly fixed on her for any attempt at playing a hero, but she walked ahead of them, hands at her sides, their procession silent except for her occasional sniffs and the sounds of boot heels on that pristine tile floor.

“I’ll let the boys in,” said Dominic, veering to the side, deep voice cheerful and resonant. He’d already memorized the floor plan with Jesse. They’d spent hours talking to each other over it, walking a homemade obstacle course to the point where they could do it in the dark. These moments were the culmination of weeks of long nights drinking and smoking and laughing about how well this would go.

Ashe turned to look at Dom, and Jesse watched their gazes meet. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

Dominic didn’t react, however, and turned and walked away, whistling ‘ _ Fishin’ in the Dark’  _ by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. His gait was relaxed, typical of him whether at work or play. Jesse watched him go, sparing a thought wishing things were a little different, before he focused back on Ashe and Yadav. 

The safe itself was mentioned only in the barest amounts. Jesse had had to dig  _ hard _ for that info. Supposedly uncrackable, it was the " _ Titanic _ of safes", but Jesse knew how well the  _ Titanic _ worked out. 

It was located in the center of the building. A state of the art biometrics scan was required to get inside. The time locks needed to be bypassed after that, the override based on a continually fluctuating and randomized code, which Jesse already had the means to get through… provided all his planning and research had paid off.

“Just let us on in now,” said Ashe soothingly, nudging Yadav forward with the barrel of her rifle. “You keep thinking about your baby and your man. It’ll be over quick as anything, if you don’t make us take matters into our own hands.”

Yadav’s hand was shaking as she put it over the biometric scanner. It was like something out of a movie, truth be told. The one thing Jesse couldn’t hack unless he took a limb off of her. 

“You are heartless criminals,” said Yadav, as the scanner turned on. “Stealing from-”

“From a corporation who has more fucking money than they’ll ever need, and could warm half the planet just by burning it,” said Jesse. “Get a move on, sugar, we don’t have all night.”

Boots were coming up behind them. He marked each gait without turning, but his eyes were drawn to their reflections in the glass. The triplets, Bob’s hulking form.  _ Where’s Dom? _

The scanner beeped and the door opened. Everything beyond - temperature and light sensors, motion detectors - was easily solved with simple hardware.

_ Step nine down. _

Yadav turned, her eyes full of judgement despite being full of tears. “Stealing from a visionary who wants to change the world. For the better.”

Jesse rolled his eyes, about to shove her along, when the booming sound of a gunshot - a Colt .45, one he knew  _ very well _ \- made him stiffen and turn to stare down the hall, with half a mind to break out of the plan and see if backup was needed. Behind him Yadav yelped like a frightened puppy.

Dom had made the call to kill the security guy, maybe because he’d woken up or tried to play hero. Alright, not ideal, but security guards knew the potential risks. So long as Dominic was okay -

“She can pretend to make to make the world a better place, sugar,” said Ashe, with a purr. “But just like everyone and everythin’ that ever walked God’s green earth, sooner or later it all ends. Sorry about that.”

Jesse felt that stillness roll down him, a sense of every detail getting brighter, standing out in fresh detail. Down the hall he watched Dominic appear, casual as anything, a smile in those bright blue eyes.

The guard? A possible risk, tucked into the plan as a low possibility if it couldn’t be avoided. The girl? Innocent. A wife. A mother. A woman who had done no crime other than to work for Vishkar, to be employed by Himani Basu.

He started to turn. “Wait-”

The sound of Ashe’s Winchester, a custom piece Jesse had crafted for her - call Peacekeeper, Diamondback, and Viper a kind of labour of love on his part, a way to show how much he cared about the two of them - exploded in the small space.

Yadav hit the floor, her blood ruby red on the white tile. She looked shocked. Ashe had hit her in the heart.

“That wasn’t part of the plan!” he barked, fist bunched. He was so mad he was shaking, trying to find words beyond feeling betrayed by  _ his perfect plan _ being punctured with holes. “She was supposed to be spared! We can’t leave a trail of corpses because you’re feeling trigger happy. That’s how we all get caught!”

“Plans change.” Dominic’s voice was low and steady. A sound that normally would cause a shiver or shake now filled him with rage.

“It’s for the best, Jesse,” said Ashe, not letting go of her gun, a determination in her eyes. She might even ready for a fight. “Dom’n’I agreed. Let’s get a move on and we can talk this out later. Time's wastin’ and that vault needs t’be emptied.”

His ears rang as he remembered snippets of conversation between Dom and Ashe. Puzzle pieces, tiny ones that he’d never associated with his own plan. He had thought these belonged in a very different kind of puzzle. One that had been becoming a problem with those two. Hushed whispers in the night. Escalating violence. Recklessness. Wanting to be some kind of Bonnie and Clyde group between the three of them, like the only solution to this world would be to die in a blaze of glory and bullets.

He closed his eyes as numbers worked over in his head. A new chess board was laid out before him. A white pawn had moved. Now it was his turn.

He opened his eyes again and met his own in the reflective glass now stained with Yadav’s blood. “Bob, you’re on clean up of her. Make sure we aren’t leaving trace evidence. I don’t care if they know there’s been a death, the point is to make sure we ain’t implicated.”

That would be his job.

_ Step One - Begin. _

**

> _ Black Canyon Penitentiary, Arizona - January 2020 _

Cold blue eyes, not unlike the unforgiving desert sky, stared through the bars at his door. He was braced against the small ledge used to rest his hands on when he was cuffed and moved, hands outside of the cell and fingers laced. There was a commotion, though nothing had been said over the intercom system. Dominic O’Brien could sense the tension. He watched it bleed from the guards, could taste it like something palpable on the air.

Almost two decades in this place and Dominic had come to know all of the ins and outs, all the faces. Where the money moved, where it could move, where it wouldn’t. Who would take risks, who would not. Who was dumb enough to fall under his thumb, who he ought to kill or hold back to keep from becoming a problem.

Today? Today something was wrong. And it wasn’t the regular kind of wrong, where some wing might have started up a riot. Something was off in a way he could damn near taste.

A buzz sounded down the hall. The heavy steel doors opened to reveal four guards, two of whom shouldn’t be on shift. They were wearing riot gear as well, with heavy pads and a helmet. Their belts sagged, and two of them were carrying shotguns. 

_ Tasers, batons, and buckshot, oh my,  _ he thought, wondering if the guns were full of rubber rounds or were real. He watched them like a crocodile waiting in the water, only his eyes moving.

“Where’s the riot at,  _ booooooss,” _ drawled someone further down the hall. His accent was Virginian and nasally. “We ain’t doin’ anything bad. Just sittin’ tight like good lil’ boys, ain’t we?”

A few people sounded off in agreement, but Dominic merely watched. One of the guards met his gaze while they passed, and Dominic offered a smile as he rubbed his thumbs together.

“We’ve found you all some new accommodations,” said the captain, looking self-important as his hand rested on that shotgun slung around his shoulders. “Just temporary. Consider it like a vacation. And we’ll be taking you down one at a time.”

Bored, he looked away and swept his eyes back over the wing. There were security cameras in every corner, not even masked. He knew there wasn’t anything in the way of a blind spot. The message was clear, they wanted every one of them to know they were being watched, at every moment.

The bored gaze focused, however. One of them was pointed his way when it ought not to be. And the rest…

All those pretty white lights, gone dark. All but that  _ one. _

Suddenly this game seemed a lot more interesting. 

**

> _ Los Angeles, California - January 2020 _

The most consideration Jesse spared for his own reflection staring ghostly through back through the glass at him was that it might be time to trim his beard and get a haircut. It was something to mention to Gabriel later, anyway, since he’d found he preferred Gabriel’s barber to his own.

On the other side of that glass, however, things were much more important.

Ronny “The Brawn” Bronwen, aged forty-two, was starting to go soft around the middle, probably because of an old traffic accident injury that made his dominant hand weaker. Bronwen had been a big guy before it. Jesse had seen enough in Facebook pictures that were all about the glory days and not about the life after. Jesse wouldn’t have liked him on sight, the fact that he was a murderer notwithstanding. Something to do with those watery blue eyes and the way he spoke when he and Gabriel had interviewed him the day before. Cruelty, tempered by self importance and entitlement, sprinkled with anger that the world was unjust.

The case itself was extremely high profile. The victim, Penny Cruz had been a well loved radio personality. Her murder had sent a good portion of the community into a frenzy, and the Homicide Department was getting blasted for it. They hadn’t waited at all to call Jesse in to help, wanting it over and done with fast.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances, it had been fun dressing up and digging into the station where she worked until they’d found this particular man, who ran an inconsequential night shift with minimal talking. Obviously he was no longer popular, with either his audience or his bosses. Ronny Bronwen insisted it was because of those ‘damn SJW’s’ and ‘political correctness run amok.’ Jesse knew it was because he was an asshole and assholes weren’t funny anymore.

Sojourn was in the interrogation room with the man. It was obvious he didn’t like her, but Jesse wanted her to try for now, if only to unnerve him. Eventually Reinhardt might be a good swap out, play fake sympathies. If the dude was the killer fake misogyny would probably break him.

Just at the moment, though, they were discussing how close he was with the victim. 

“He’s lying.” Gabriel’s words were soft, the sound of them causing a little shiver to roll over Jesse’s back.

He glanced over, raising an eyebrow. Jesse could usually tell when someone wasn’t being truthful, but Gabriel was capable of even seeing through Jesse’s lies. It was a useful, if unnerving, knack he had. But, he supposed as he looked back through the two-way mirror separating them from the interrogation happening in front of them, Gabriel was practiced in a way Jesse was not. His black ops work for the Marines was an entirely different kind of beast from the typical criminals Jesse hunted. It was a dark, bloody path Jesse had not yet visited in such a capacity.

Regardless of his trust in Gabriel, though, he had to press him over that. “How are you sure?”

“That tic he sometimes gets is genuine,” said Gabriel, referring to the Bronwen’s hand. Jesse knew as much, the man had intermittent tremors from the spinal injury he’d obtained in the old traffic accident. “But he fakes it when he’s under pressure.”

“Wouldn’t being under pressure make it worse? The tic, I mean?” asked Fareeha, who was observing with them as Sojourn talked with Bronwen. 

“You’d think so,” said Jesse. “But… I can see it, yeah.” Now that Gabriel had pointed out the change in hand movements, he looked up to analyze the other facial expressions the perp made, cataloged them, and nodded. It was clear as day. “It’s not a psychosomatic tic. It’s a tell.”

He was a little annoyed he hadn’t made it first, to be honest. 

“How can you see it?” the detective looked annoyed now.

Gabriel smiled. His eyes were still focused like a predator on the man in the interrogation room, and the smile made him look a few steps from feral. Truth be told, it was kind of hot in Jesse’s books. “Just look harder,  _ mija.  _ It’s like his nervous system is on a timer. The tremors generally happen maybe once every two to five minutes. When he lies, it happens faster, and a little differently. You’ll be able to see the difference when a real one happens.”

“Which also helps us,” said Jesse, looking at Fareeha. “Definitely your guy, then. The hesitation marks with the knife weren’t because they got nervous, especially considering they seemed to happen partway through the murder. They were because his hand shakes.”

Fareeha nodded, and knocked on the glass. Beyond it Sojourn stood in a fluid motion and headed for the door. Like Jesse had cautioned her, she made plenty of apologies, and made a show of looking demure.

“Can you give us anything else?” Fareeha asked. “We can’t pin it on him because of a hand tremor.”

Jesse looked back at him and tilted his head, eyes sliding down to their feet, then back up. Watching the way the perp’s body moved, from his movements to his body language. As Sojourn came around the corner, the man had relaxed almost imperceptibly. That tremor was gone, too, for the time being.

“Right shoe size, left handed with an intermittent tremor, and he’s hiding a healing wound on his right arm where she bit him. He keeps itching it like a junkie, but it’s in the wrong spot. She got him when he arm-barred her. I guarantee it’s itchy because it’s infected. Combine it with the fact he knows the victim and has a shaky alibi at best… if Sojourn plies him in the right way, he’ll sing like a songbird in an hour or so. He won’t willingly give you DNA, so. Gotta make him sing until you can find compelling enough evidence to issue a warrant.”

“Too bad I can’t get in there,” said Gabriel, his voice a low growl. “I’d have him singing in a few seconds.”

Fareeha patted his arm. “Easy, big guy.”

Gabriel grunted at her.

The captain smiled, however, her cobalt blue eyes shining. “Fareeha, get Reinhardt. I’ve got him pretty pissed. You two behave. The commander and the ADA will be here soon.”

Jesse watched the two women leave, then turned to look at Gabriel, an eyebrow raised, a little smile on his mouth. “It’s kinda hot when you get like that.”

Gabriel’s serious face broke after that, and he snorted, shaking his head. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m kinda pissed I didn’t see his tell. But you’re getting real sharp at deductions, and combine it when you get all serious and murderous and you really make a guy’s heart ache.”

The other man smirked now. “You think it’d be possible to ever fuck on their interrogation room table?”

“Not without Lynx hacking the cameras, no.” Jesse paused. “I wonder how much they’d want to try.”

“Enough to risk Jack having a stroke when he realizes who’s been giving you all those hickeys?” asked Gabriel slyly, voice pitched low. Once again, tingles rolled over Jesse’s back, and he shivered, now only half paying attention to the interrogation.

“Y’know, you’re damn lucky your skin’s so dark,” said Jesse, but he was smirking too, turning away now to watch Gabriel saunter closer.

“Only because the gig would be up a lot sooner than you’d like.”

There might have been a kiss, he supposed, but there was a sound from the hall that had them both straightening. Despite being past the age when hearing took a natural decline, Commander Jack Morrison could hear a fucking pin drop.

“What gig?” he asked, looking frazzled. 

Jesse’s eyes roamed over the man. He was dressed down, not casually but gone was the usual uniform. A red shirt - Vincent back out again, he’d taken a temporary teaching post in NorCal - and a three piece suit that had probably cost him considerably. Had to look good for those lunch dates with the commissioner, he figured, as his eyes glanced down at a single spot on Jack’s pants, then up again to a pinprick discolouration on the baby-blue dress shirt.

“Nothing,” said Gabriel easily. “Just something we’re doing at home.”

Morrison had a knack for suspicious eyes, but at least they were targeted on Gabriel for now, who looked back at the glass. 

“Looks like the dude’s about to give it up even sooner than you thought,” said Gabriel. 

Jesse glanced over. The hand tremor was constant, now, and the man’s pupils were pinpricks. “Mm. Don’t think so. It’ll be another while yet.”

The sensation of Morrison inserting himself into the scant space between Jesse and Gabriel made the cowboy’s jaw tighten, but he didn’t say anything as he side-stepped, though he did look over because he could scent something different on Jack. Sure, there was the fancy musk-based cologne he wore when he was trying to impress someone, but there was a different one. A wrong one. Sandalwood. 

His eyes narrowed.

_ It could just be from casual contact from someone else in the office, _ he decided to reason.

For now.

“So you’re sure it’s this guy?” asked Morrison. “I’ve had a lot of heat on this one.”

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt,” said Jesse. “We could go to his house if you like. Bet he’s got some trash to rummage through.”

There was a moment of quiet as Jack considered. If they got a confession it’d be a pretty worthless gesture, but Jesse wanted out of here now. If the guy ended up clamming up and doing nothing more than digging himself a probable cause hole, it might help. If the dude ended up being smarter than he looked and getting released after his 24 hour hold as up, definitely helpful.

Besides, Jesse loved breaking and entering.

Jesse could tell that Morrison was in favour when the commander sighed. “Alright just in case this dude calls for a lawyer, get out. I’ve got the ADA coming down right now, but…”

The eternal but. He already knew the drill. Don’t get caught, don’t use something that is obviously illegally obtained, make sure to tie up all the loose ends. Even though Morrison could be a god damn pain in the ass, Jesse at least admired how quick he was to lose the rules when he had to. Perhaps it was Gabriel’s influence.

Jesse took the cue, though, and tipped his hat. Gabriel followed with a lazy salute at Jack, and the two of them disappeared into the hall. 

It was always a welcome sensation to be well shot of the precinct, and Jesse was more than glad when they were on the street perhaps ten minutes later, after giving Reinhardt a bit of advice on how to handle Bronwen. The January weather was nice and cool. Jesse kind of liked it. Not feeling like his clothes had turned into a second skin was always welcome.

“You really want to break into this guy’s apartment?” asked Gabriel, his tone pitched low so no one overheard. He was leaning a little heavy on his cane, but he’d had physio the day before and was probably still feeling it pretty keenly. “Thought he’d confess.”

“I just wanted away from Morrison,” Jesse admitted as they slowed, heading towards a bus stop. “I mean, I’ll get the evidence. I just get sick of the scrutiny.”

Gabriel gave Jesse a gentle nudge, which caused a little bit of warmth to roll through him. “Want me to break it to him?”

“Nah, not yet,” said Jesse, as they slowed for the bus. He was already digging out his Metro Pass. “I kind of like having this thing to myself. Something he ain’t in on. Feels good.”

He sure as fuck got tired of everyone knowing his business all the time.

Gabriel’s phone buzzed and the other man pulled it out.

“Looks like that DNA evidence isn’t needed,” said Gabriel. “Jack says the guy broke within five minutes of Reinhardt playing him.”

Jesse just sighed and clicked his tongue. “Damn. And here I’d been so ready to try out those new lock picks.”

Gabe tucked his phone away an gave Jesse a playful nudge as the bus pulled up. “Since he broke faster than you thought, does that mean you’re buying lunch?”

Jesse nudged right back. “Hey now, we didn’t bet nothing.”

“So just bragging rights, then.”

“Yeah right,” said Jesse, giving Gabriel a gesture to climb first. “Age before beauty, old man.”

“If you keep that up, I won’t take my dentures out next time I blow you,” said Gabriel, which earned them both a dirty, scandalized look from the bus driver.

“All you’re doin’ is ensuring  _ no one _ gets a blow job for a long time,” said Jesse. 

It was mostly a bluff, anyway. 

Jesse just shook his head, leading them to two open spots in the first row. The bus smelled like coffee and urine and people, something that was permanently ingrained into every public transport he’d ever been on. At least now that they were well shot of Christmas the crowds were a little less bad, and a lot more usual.

His mind rolled over their favourite stops as he tried to decide what kind of food he was in the mood for. The oddly named Burger Chapel -  _ Saving the Burger, One Patty at a Time _ \- popped into his head. An eccentric Greek man with ‘HELL BENT’ tattooed on his knuckles ran the place, and insisted he be called Christos the Redeemer. He would have gotten a fresh shipment of Texan Angus chuck that day, and it was a Friday. Double bacon cheeseburgers. Add in that he had a lot of craft brews on tap only made the prospect more tantalizing. “How about some burgers and a pitcher of beer?”

“Oh, now you’re just sweet talking me.”

**

Jesse was leaning against Gabriel’s side as they walked, giggling, cheeks red. He couldn’t remember 221 Baker Street being so far down from the bus stop before, but it was fine. Gave Gabriel plenty of time to tell a story Jesse hadn’t heard yet.

“-so then he spots this thing - bright fucking pink, clear as day, fishnet looking banana hammock - and just  _ hollers _ as we’re all tossing our laundry around to their owners.” Gabriel stopped, drawing himself up and after a moment his demeanor changed, the drunkenness becoming a suddenly serious looking drill sergeant type, and sounding like Al Matthews from  _ Aliens _ . “WHO’S THE FUCK IS THAT? I’M ABOUT TO OWN YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD!”

His face breaks again and he snickers, continuing their walk down the road. That one pitcher of beer had turned into three. It was by no means the drunkest Jesse had been, considering the three pitchers amounted to perhaps eight beer apiece, but it was enough to make everything hilarious. 

“S-so,” Gabriel laughs again. The sound is  _ music _ to Jesse’s ears. He’s pretty sure he’d do anything to hear Gabriel laugh. “So he goes, snatches this fuckin’ thing up, and turns the label around to see his own name, and all of us, we go silent, because they  _ all _ know what I fucking wrote on it, and we also know we’re  _ all _ about to suffer, because it wasn’t like anyone was gonna be a pussy and snitch. And then this guy, who I have never seen show any emotions other than displeased and pissed the fuck off, mutters, ‘my B-Girl days are coming back to haunt me.’ And a bunch of us just  _ burst _ out laughing, no one can deal. Sergeant marched out with that thing still clenched in his fist flapping behind him as he went. The second he was in the hall we could hear him  _ howling _ with laughter _. _ Didn’t know his voice could go that high.”

Jesse wiped a tear away. “I can’t believe Morrison helped you.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Man, he’s a lot more devious than you think. Anyway, we all got fucking punished for that one. Ended up doing an unscheduled 12k ruck march. Worth it, though.”

221 loomed ahead. Brigitte was on the front lawn with several nieces and nephews. Not far away, a few of the local teenage boys were pretending not to watch her, knowing full and well what her father might do if they got too close.

“If it makes you feel better, one time Jack did have to ask permission to shift his testicles because the climbing harness was pinching them.”

Jesse laughed. “It does indeed. Hey, Brig!”

_ “Hej hej!” _ she waved as they approached. “We’re just getting ready to head to the movies. Going to go see Frozen 2!”

“My niece loved it,” said Gabriel, smiling a bit. “You all going?”   
  
“Yep! The house will be dead silent.”

Gabriel caught Jesse’s eye in a sideways glance, but it was enough to know what the other man was thinking, his too-green-to-be-hazel eyes full of mischief. Jesse felt himself get a little chubby at the prospect, glad he was already at the door and letting himself in so he could head up the steps.

_ Movie’ll have a run time of two hours, they always leave an hour early, and if they get ice cream after that’ll put us around four. _

Oh, but what they could do with four hours.

Gabriel was a little slower on the stairs, which was fine. It gave Jesse a little more time to kick off his boots, work off his belt, and unbutton his shirt. He barely gave the other man time to look before he dragged Gabriel into a greedy kiss there at the door.   
  
“We’ve got to make it to the bedroom,” said Gabe, chuckling low as he spoke against Jesse’s lips.   
  
“You start first, don’t feel like waiting for you,” said Jesse. Hat on the hook, boots out of the way. Door locked behind Gabriel as he listened to the man make his way towards their bedroom. Probably Jesse’s. Bigger bed.

A sweet floral scent crossed him a moment, and Jesse paused. He couldn’t place it, not immediately, but after a moment he could also smell the tang of vinegar of cooking heroin in a heated spoon, which was followed by a sharp and physical pang of  _ want. _

He swallowed. Had to bolt that down, whatever it was. Couldn’t be real. Had to be a flashback of some kind.

As he walked his eyes shifted to a bottle of honey bourbon on the liquor shelf that he kept in the place out of habit. It had shifted slightly to the left.

A cold feeling spread over him, dampening his arousal.

_ Magnolias. That scent. It’s magnolias. _

“Jesse?” Gabriel was calling, but it wasn’t heavy with desire, begging him in. It was confused. Concerned. “We’ve got a situation.”

He stared at that crescent of clear, clean wood around the dust by the bottle of honey bourbon, and nodded. Feeling like he was walking through water, the hall loomed, and he saw Gabriel watching him. He realized he hadn’t seen the Cat. He tended to hide lately, around strangers, ever since a potential client had decided to start a knife fight with Gabriel and lost.

A slow blink. The world felt oddly thick as he pushed open his door to look properly inside.

_ Snowy white hair, spread out on his pillow. Pale skin, lips without their paint curving into a smile. A slim form normally so full of angry energy, so soft in repose and lost in one of his shirts.  _

She always looked gentle when she slept. She so rarely looked gentle any other time.

“Oh.”

Shit.


	2. The Woman in the Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shorter than the usual -3-

Nothing really put a damper on the mood like an ex-girlfriend appearing in your boyfriend’s bed, Gabriel figured as he stood in the hall. He knew who she was without Jesse saying anything. There’d already been plenty of talks with more than a little whiskey involved, partially at his sponsor’s behest, and partially, Gabriel figured, because Jesse didn’t want to risk the relapse again. He knew her life in bits and pieces, her albinism, her trouble at home, her desperation for a family, her ruthless streak, and the fondness in Jesse’s voice that suggested she could be soft as well at times.

Still. Anxiety was coiled in his stomach as he looked at the pale sleeping woman, her face devoid of makeup, white hair spread over the sheets, and wearing Gabriel’s shirt. She must have thought it was Jesse’s, but the cowboy tended to claim sweaters and t-shirts whenever he could.

He looked over at Jesse, who had stepped back from the door and was leaning against the wall. He had a cigarillo in one hand, seemingly forgotten, and his lighter in the other flipping open and shut. His eyes were also fixed on the carpet. Whatever was happening, Jesse’s mind was probably running at around one hundred miles per hour.

Blowing out a sigh, Gabriel reached out to close the door. Whatever reason Elizabeth Ashe had to be in 221B, it couldn’t be good.

“C’mon. Living room.”   
  
Jesse didn’t seem like he’d heard him at first before he snapped the lighter closed. “Yeah, guess so. She’ll be out for awhile.”

His tone was oddly casual. It made Gabriel frown more, but Jesse turned and headed down the hall quick as you like, leaving Gabriel to follow along at a more sedate pace, considering how badly his leg was bothering him.

While Jesse went to the shelf to pluck his preferred bottle of bourbon off of it, Gabriel went to the coffee pot to start one. Had to sober up, at least. Finding her there had  _ also _ helped burn some of that out. 

Jesse poured himself at least three fingerfuls into his glass. Well, one of them had to sober up, anyway. But at least Jesse was choosing alcohol and not making an excuse to go out. 

_ She’s going to be like a time bomb full of heroin. She’s going to remind him of how much he used to use. She was his supplier for a long time, after all. _

One thing at a time, he figured, putting the last scoop in the filter before closing the lid and turning on the pot. “So. Any idea why she’s here?”

“Haven’t the fucking foggiest. But I know Bob was up for parole soon. Maybe it’s that.” Jesse’s lazy boy clanged as he extended it completely, getting comfortable as he raised the cigarillo to his lips to light it.

Gabriel pulled their mugs out of the basin and gave them a quick rinse before setting them by the pot. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” The scent of tobacco was filling the room, mixing with the brewing coffee. “Never been better.”

Gabriel’s not sure what to say to that as he leans against the counter, watching the other man smoke. Eventually those hostile eyes turn on him, but they soften at once, and Gabriel can see Jesse’s worried.

“That bad, huh?”

“We’re in danger,” said Jesse, holding his drink and staring into the amber liquid. “I can’t know how much or why until she wakes up, but… she dressed down like she’s got a yen for some comfort. Says to me she’s scared of something. Might just be Bob. Might be her folks. Might be worse. She’s made a name for herself over the years.”

Gabriel glances at the hall, then begins to limp towards his bedroom. “I’m getting my gun.”

“Not the worst idea.”

Having his 9 millimeter tucked under the back of his shirt made him feel more in control. Sure there were several guns in handy locations around the house, but he preferred his own. He also paused long enough to throw his compression brace on his knee just in case he had to move quick, and swapped out the adjustable aluminum cane for the one Jesse had bought him for Christmas. Cherry wood, with a polished steel pommel. Perfect for bashing in cheeks, though he hadn’t had the opportunity yet.

He’d never expected to slip back into the danger and violence so easily. He’d thought retirement would be just that. An end.

The coffee pot chimed and Gabriel headed back out of the bedroom, straight for the pot. Jesse had moved to the kitchen table, cigar and mostly finished drink brought with him. His laptop was out and Jesse sat before it, one hand up letting the Cat seek reassurance against his fingers. Next to him was a notepad with a pen sitting at the ready. Full on detective mode.

The sight ought to have been a sexy one, really. Jesse’s focus, that open plaid shirt exposing tattooed skin and thick chest hair. But the worry lines on his forehead had Gabriel turning from the visual to pour them each a mug of coffee. Jesse might need that drink, but Gabriel was going to discourage the rest.

“Research?” he asked, putting the mug next to Jesse and sparing a glance at the screen.

“None of my Google alerts have gone off, but I’m broadening my search,” Jesse replied. “Messaged Lynx. They’re in a class right now, but it lets out soonish and they’ll be calling me back, hopefully.”

Gabriel nodded, picking up his own laptop, and pulled out a chair at the table. “Give me a list of names, we can share the load.”

Jesse smiled, the first almost relaxed look he had on since they’d discovered their house guest. He wrote down a few names, his handwriting a little scratchy but legible, and passed it over.

_ Ephraim McDaniels _ _   
_ _ Foster McDaniels _ _   
_ _ Garfield McDaniels _ _   
_ _ Lacey Smith _ _   
_ _ Bart “Bars” Williams _ _   
_ _ Robert “Bob” Butler _ _   
_ __ Dominic “Diamondback” O’Brien 

“Right. Triplets,” he said, opening his computer.

“Yeah. I tried not to let them go down too hard,” said Jesse, his voice low. “Fucking dumbasses, the lot of them, but well meaning. I’m looking out for Ashe’s handiwork right now, see if there’s anything overt she’s done I can figure out.”

Gabriel entered the first name into the search bar, wondering if their mother or father was very uncreative, and if they had four other siblings that hadn’t joined Deadlock whose names started with A to D. “You’ve been tracking her?”

“Yep,” said Jesse, popping the p. “I may have done my best to make sure she didn’t see the inside of a cell, but we didn’t split amicably.” He paused a moment, considering. “I… when she’s not potentially here to listen in on us, I’ll give you the cliff notes.”

“I know you had reasons to do what you did. I trust you,” said Gabriel, looking over the headlines. Most of them had to do with their arrest in early 2002. “When we get a minute I’ll be a willing ear. Until then I’ll follow your play.”

Jesse didn’t reply but to reach over and squeeze Gabriel’s fingers.

_ “Beep beep. Paging one Handsome Cowboy and Grumpy McGrumpface.” _

The voice wasn’t preluded by anything, which made Gabriel jump a bit, but he shifted his chair enough to get a look at who was on Jesse’s screen and raise an accusing eyebrow at them. Lynx Seventeen was sucking on a smoothie, their glasses on, hair now a bright magenta as opposed to the teal it was a few months ago in October. They were completely unabashed.

Jesse sighed. “You know I how I feel about forced calls on my computer, Lynx.”

Lynx shrugged their narrow shoulders. The colour of the day for their clothes was lime green.  _ “You said Person of Interest Numero Uno. Figured I’d get here without the fuss. What you need?” _

“I need you to go hard finding out what Ashe might have been up to. I want everything about her digital footprint for the last two weeks, anything from bank statements to a receipt for Starbucks. If I don’t see what I need we’ll extend the time frame then.”

_ “Is this not the woman with a thousand alias’s?”  _ said Lynx with a long suffering sigh.

“Just get on it and send me the invoice. It’s urgent.”

_ “Aiiiight.” _ The feed cut out.

Jesse gave Gabriel’s hand another squeeze and it was back to work. For his part he had his ears strained past the clack of the keyboard and the click of a mouse for movement either down the hall in Jesse’s bedroom, or something unexpected from outside.

The triplets gained no search results of note. They were placed in a maximum security penitentiary in New Mexico and had gone out on parole once two years before, but all three of them had found themselves in jail after only a month from breaking their curfews. Another chance was coming up, but there was no word of an exact date.

Lacey Smith was in a women's prison in California, her sentence increased after a deadly fight, and wasn’t eligible for parole. She was almost unrecognizable from her days in Deadlock, now gaunt with her hair cut into a buzz.

Bob Butler was an enormous man serving their sentence in New Mexico as well, at the same prison as Bars Wiliams. No word on either of their status’s from a simple search, though there was a small note that Bob Butler was eligible for parole due to overcrowding and good behavior, but several families were fighting it.

The light was slanting as Gabriel moved onto the last name. “So,” he said, checking his mug and seeing it was empty. “What’s she been getting up to?”

Jesse slid his own mug over when Gabriel stood. “Con artist, mostly,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “And so far there’s not a lot I can isolate as her handiwork beyond… some shit she pulled in Miami recently.”

As he was pouring two fresh mugs he listened to Jesse flick open his lighter. A moment later the scent of one of Gabriel’s cigarettes rose in the air. “What kind of con jobs?”

“She’s got a knack of getting to know men and either stealing from them or blackmailing them,” said Jesse. He looked grateful for the cup as Gabriel handed it to him, though he made a face as Gabriel plucked the cigarette from his lips for a drag of his own. “She mighta killed a few too, but there’s no… hard evidence.”

“Okay,” said Gabriel, leaning forward, chin on his fist. The cigarette was still between his lips, bobbing as he spoke. “What about Jesse McCree evidence?”

“She’s definitely killed a few.” He shook his head, picking yet another cigarette from the package instead of taking it back. “She ain’t stupid and I taught her how to hide evidence. But I’m sure I ain’t the only one who knows about her game.”

“So do you think we’re in danger from her or from someone after her?”

“Knowing Ashe? Both. She’s a murderer who pisses off murderers. This entire situation fucking sucks.”

_ So much for a quiet night at home, _ Gabriel thought with a little yawn, typing the next name in.

“She’s scared, though,” said Jesse after a moment. “Stole my bed. No makeup on. She’s on the run. If she was going to try and kill us she wouldn’t have left herself open to attack. Of course, could be one way to keep me from killing her. She knows how I feel about innocents and collateral damage, and I know she’s got a cruel streak.”

Gabriel would kill her if something happened to the Lindholm’s, but he didn’t voice the opinion as he hit enter on ‘Dominic O’Brien.’

Deadlock reports, a twentieth anniversary article about Deadlock’s start, other pieces specifically set to psychoanalyze Dominic O’Brien and the potential inner structure of Deadlock. Another news article about how he was supposedly set up to donate part of his liver to a family member.

Like the others there were pictures, but unlike Lacey Smith twenty years in jail hadn’t hurt the man at all. Youthful handsome charm had given way to a mature face with a carefully trimmed beard and well tended hair. Blond hair, blue eyes, no scars. Even in the most recent picture he seemed amused by something. A man who considered himself in control of the situation, even under the thumb of the state. Gabriel had a feeling this man would have a following in prison, and preferred to rule the roost.

_ That man is dangerous, _ he thought.

Jesse sighed, closing the laptop for now. Gabriel copied the motion. “Food?”

“Mm.”

“Eggs it is.” Gabriel started to get up from the table, but Jesse’s hand caught his wrist. Something about his grip was tight, anxious. 

“I love you, Gabe,” said Jesse. Those liquid amber eyes held Gabriel steady in their gaze. “We’re gonna ride out this squall.”

Gabriel didn’t reply but to lean down and press a kiss to Jesse’s lips. He tasted like smoke and coffee, a combination that was so perfectly him. “I know.”

He’d certainly weathered worse storms, and without Jesse at his side. Hard to imagine this would be worse.

From the refrigerator came a carton of eggs and a jug of milk, from the pantry was salt and pepper, and the cupboard a whisk and a mixing bowl. He was thinking over what Jesse had mentioned about Ashe as he began to crack eggs into the bowl one-handed. “You think it’s possible she just got herself into some hot water and needs help getting out of it?”

“Probably got some gang of psycho killers after her or something,” said Jesse, his tone dour.

“Well, not an  _ entire _ gang.” The voice which answered them was quiet but confident, with a heavy Texan accent. “Just one.”

He turned to look, realizing he hadn’t heard her get up or walk down the hall. That either meant she was light on her feet, or she’d remembered the creaky spot before Jesse’s study.

Ashe had stolen a housecoat. This time she’d guessed right and it was Jesse’s, red plaid and fuzzy, and pulled tight around her shoulders. She looked tiny beneath it. Her eyes were decidedly pink in the artificial lighting, and her skin was the palest thing in the room next to her own hair.

She wasn’t looking at Gabriel, though. Didn’t even have a glance to spare. Her gaze was fixed on Jesse.

An odd roll of anger moved its way through his chest. Jealousy, he realized. At least not anxiety or worry Jesse might leave him for her, but a sharp possessiveness was settling into his body in reaction to the way she looked at his man.

“Hey Ashe.” Jesse’s tone was guarded.

“Hey Jesse.” She smirked. “You said you’d write.”

Jesse stubbed out his cigarette. “Been kinda busy, unfortunately.”

“I’ll bet. Right little detective y’are now. Traded robbin’ banks for catchin’ crooks.” She walked forward a few steps, and her eyes finally slid to Gabriel. She was sizing him up. “Even found yourself a Starsky to your Hutch.”

Gabriel’s jaw flexed. 

Jesse, however, merely sighed. “What do you want, Ashe? Who’s the psycho killer after you?”

Ashe reached out one delicate hand to pull a chair from the table. Her nails were painted blood red, the way Gabriel supposed her eyes might shine in the right light. “I reckon you can deduct that on your own,” she said, sitting down. “Ain’t hit the news yet. Not by name. But he’s a big fan of yours. Especially all those stories about those criminals you lock up.”

There was a pregnant pause. “He’s on death row.”

“Don’t matter. The needle got pushed back because they needed him for some dying kid, a judge and a prison warden were all goo-goo eyed over his selfless charity. I’m sure it’ll hit the news soon. An old fashioned jail break is sure to ruffle some feathers. But he made sure to call me first. Our boy’s out, and I guarantee you he’s fixin’ for some revenge.” She smiled, resting her hand on her palm. “Hates me because I had tricky lawyers. Hates you because  _ you _ put him there. So I guess we need each other.” Her eyes moved to Gabriel again. There was no sympathy in her eyes for him. “Bet he hates you too, sugar. In fact, I bet he’s got special plans lined up in your case.”

“Ashe.” The word was sharp, warning. There was plenty of weight behind it. 

Her gaze didn’t move back to Jesse’s however. There was something accusatory there as she regarded Gabriel, and it was with an insolent slowness that she looked back. “I’m only sayin’ the truth. We both know Dom gets mighty burned up over things he can’t have… and people touchin’ his stuff.”

“I don’t belong to Dom. Never have.”

Gabriel blinked. “Dom… Dominic O’Brien?”

“You know about him?” she asked pleasantly.

“Only that he’s a murderer like you,” he replied. “Sounds like you two deserved each other’s friendship.”

“Mm. Sounds like Jesse’s been sugarcoatin’ his exploits.”

“Nope. I just don’t like you,” said Gabriel. 

She chuckled. Her tone never changed from what Gabriel would describe as ‘surface politeness.’ He could envision her at a gathering of ‘friends’ where not a single sincere word was spoken, and every syllable hid an insult. “He’s honest. And full o’fire. Guess I can see why you like ‘im, Jess.”

Jesse’s gaze was dark. Calculating. Gabriel could only imagine what was going on in his head just then. 

“Alright, Ashe. You’re here. You’ve given the warning. Now what the fuck is it that you want from me that your millions can’t arrange for you elsewhere?”

She didn’t answer, instead looking at Gabriel. “Pour us a cup, would you sweetheart? Cream’n’sugar, one of each, and warm the mug with some hot water first.”

Gabriel didn’t move except to lift his own mug for a sip. He licked his lips, then smiled back with the same fake pleasantry she wielded. “Answer the fucking question or you leave in your pajamas to sort your own shit out.”

Her eyes flashed. “Ohh, you gonna make me?”

“Ashe.” Another warning from Jesse, darker now, with no patience left.

She sighed. “You two’re no  _ fun. _ Alright, alright. Obviously Dom’s a problem. But I also know he’s after more’n’just our heads. The last  _ real _ score we ever made was that Vishkar heist. Bars was the last one to be grabbed. He was also the one who knew where everything was stashed. And unfortunately, he’s gone mute. Literally. Had a fight in prison and was lucky to live when they shanked him in the throat. But he also won’t answer any letters or take visitors, so far as I’m aware. Believe me, I’ve tried. I could use that money.”

Jesse steepled his fingers in front of him and stared at them. “You think Dom’s after the leftovers.”

“Why wouldn’t he be? Broke out of prison, needs cash. Shit, Jesse. The fact that you’re here along with it is fuckin’ icin’ on the cake. He gets a prize, and he gets to kill your ass. So you’re welcome for the heads up.”

He sighed. “You’re here because you want me to find it before him. A fucking treasure hunt.”

“Only because I know you’re the only one that can.” She leaned forward, and reached out to touch his arm. Gabriel was pleased to see Jesse draw his hand back. “Sweetheart, I know we didn’t end well, but… if we take this from him, and help put him back away, we’re doin’ ourselves a favour. Strength in numbers.”

The worry lines on Jesse’s forehead increased before he sighed, pushing up from the table. “Get comfy, because I’m about to grill your ass.”

“You mind if I freshen up?”

“Only if you take more than a minute.”

She beamed and got up from the table, glanced between Jesse and Gabriel, then disappeared down the hall. “I’d really like that coffee if I’m gonna be interrogated!” she called back.

Jesse was in Gabriel’s space at once, gripping his hips with digging fingers, tilting his head for a kiss. It was full of need. 

“I know this is bullshit,” said Jesse against his lips. “But I need you to be a lie detector while she talks. She’s good, but she’s not as good as me.”

“Don’t worry.” Gabriel kissed him back, nipping his lip. Jesse growled in response at that. “Sooner we figure out her mess, sooner she’s out of her lives, sooner we can get back to our own.”

“Amen.” When Jesse pulled away Gabriel couldn’t help but note that hectic brightness in his eyes. Not so bad as the night Bartalotti died, but similar. 

_ Time bomb, _ he thought.

He cupped Jesse’s cheek and gave him another kiss. He’s not sure what to add on, and figures Jesse doesn’t need the platitudes, so he just lets his body do the talking for now.

Ashe could be heard in the hall, so he pulled away for now. Feeling annoyed, he chose their ugliest mug - chipped and coffee stained - to pour their guest some coffee. It didn’t get warmed up with hot water either.

As she walked past, still in Jesse’s housecoat, Gabriel reached for a few more eggs. He supposed this meant they had a dinner guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading and for your comments. They really brighten up my day ^^


	3. The Devil You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if there's not as much information on Jesse and Gabriel's happenings in this story. Trying to give enough air time to all three is complicated! But rest assured next weeks will be all them.

_ Abiquiú _ _ , New Mexico - April 1999 _

His gloves were grimy inside, the cowhide slick enough with sweat and dirt now that he winced as he pulled them off and tossed them aside, looking at brown-streaked palms. It had been a long time since blisters were a concern, and now they were just rough, beaten hands. Hands you could read a lifetime story on, even though he was only fifteen.

Jesse sighed, turned his neck to crack it, and walked up to the old water pump by the trough. The old lever was stubborn, and took five cranks to get the first gush of water, and several more before it ran clear and sparkling in the light. 

He leaned in, mouth against the stream, and took deep swallows as he braced against the trough, listening to the water splash down into the basin below him. Once he’d had his fill, gut feeling heavy with water, he turned his head and let the freezing water wash over his hair and the back of his neck, running in icy rivulets to his shoulders, wetting his t-shirt, trickling down his arms.

A shake of his long hair, sending water splattering, and he stood again, and tilted his head back. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be allowed to be idle like this. No doubt one of the owners here was going to come for his ass any second now, but he’d been working hours without a break, and his muscles were aching from shovelling manure and moving hay bales. His head was aching listening to the owner provide a steady stream of useless commentary on Y2K to one of his brothers, and what he was going to do when ‘the world ended.’

There was a soft, velvety press against one bare arm, and he turned to look over. He’d missed the sound of hooves and heavy breaths with his ears full of water. “Hey beautiful.”

One of Mr. O'Brien's mares blew a warm breath over his bicep and he turned enough to put his hands underneath of her jaw for a scratch. She was a chestnut rabicano mustang, gentle as anything, and always looking for treats.

“Got no oats for you right now, pretty thing,” he murmured, smoothing his hand up along her muzzle as she nickered at him. “Can’t well sneak ‘em either when the boss’s in there. He keeps me away from anything he’s deemed expensive.”  _ Not that it stopped him. _

“It just means you need to be more creative.”

The voice gave Jesse a moment of pause. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. There’d been no sound of boot heels in the dirt, no shuffle of clothing, no heavy breathing. He also didn’t know the voice. It wasn’t one of the other boys from his group home, or one of the people he’d met at Diamond Bar Ranch either.

The voice itself was male, deep, filled with confidence and a touch of mischief. The sound of it made Jesse feel a slow tingle of electricity down his spine. It was a sound of  _ potential. _

One last stroke to the mares muzzle - whoever the person was, the horse knew them - before he turned to look.

Leaning on the wooden fence, arms dangling with a lazy kind of insolence, was a lanky looking boy well on his way to the solid, corded muscle of adulthood, probably three years or so older than Jesse. His hair was messy and flyaway, shining golden in the light, and his eyes were a deep penetrating blue. 

A glance over facial features - a note of his gently cloven chin, the widowspeak of his hair, the shape of his cheekbones - and he knew who this was without knowing a name.

“You’re Mr. O’Brien’s kid?” he asked, sounding bored. 

“I’d compliment you on your good eye, but I’m not surprised you know,” he said, smirking with amusement. “Tell me, what’s it like knowing you’re smarter than everything else in the room, and having to play  _ dumb?” _

Jesse couldn’t help the resultant frown, eyebrows pinching together as he stared the other boy down. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He paused a moment, as if appraising Jesse, then glanced back towards the stablehouse where Mr. O’Brien was still ranting on with his brother. “C’mon, before Pa sees us out here gabbin’.”

“I’m working.”

“Yeah, and I’ll put y’t’work somewheres else if you’re so hot for it, other than for those two sorry excuses for human beings. C’mon.”

The boy walked away from the fence, whistling Garth Brooks as he went. Jesse watched him go, scanning his form. Older plaid shirt, well worn levi’s, boots with patched soles, work gloves sticking from his back pocket. Most importantly, his hands were rough from work and the back of his neck was red and tanned.

Jesse glance at the stablehouse again, with its low ceiling, stifling heat, and the circle-jerk conversation he’d been listening to for the better part of three hours. The decision was easy to make, snatching up the gloves, picking his hat up off the peg of the fence, and hopping over it to follow after the O’Brien kid.

He didn’t know the names of any of the children beyond the youngest two at the house, Monica and Matthew. The youngest, Matthew, was still only five and from what Jesse could tell not interested in anything beyond Hot Wheels. Monica was pre-teen imitation valley girl with not a hard working bone in her body. The others - nameless, and from what he could tell there were three of them - had been in family photos. This one had not been. Whoever this was, they were a mystery and probably a few steps shy of being disowned.

Past the cattle pens and barns, and the machine shed, and further past the rundown garage where O’Brien Senior smoked pot, they came to a series of ramshackle buildings, one of which was exuding the tell-tale scent of fermented mash. They were well away from the house, now, lost among the remnants of an old homestead abandoned for the superior plot of land higher on the hill.

The O’Brien kid was pulling a few old chairs out from inside of the crumbled remains of a cottage, as well as a few expensive bottles of bourbon. The sight of that made Jesse perk considerably, but it was when the blond boy pulled out a pack of Pall Malls that sealed the deal.

“So, what’s your name anyway?” the big guy asked, putting a dart between his lips before pulling out a rough looking red Bic lighter.

“McCree.”

“Weird first name. Or is it Mc and Cree?” The lighter sparked a few times before he had it lit, then he held out the pack for Jesse.

He considered not answering, but it wasn’t like his name was a secret there. It’d only take one question to someone else to get it. “Jesse.” He took the offered pack, sliding a cigarette from the paper, and put it between his lips. His eyes glanced once at the exposed skin around their wrist. Healing wounds, but not self harm. 

“Jesse McCree,” said the other boy. He sat down in one of the chairs, stretching long legs out in front of him. He had considerable height on Jesse, perhaps eight or nine inches. “How’s that boy’s home? Pa’s always threatening to send me there.”

Jesse did not want to think about St. Monica’s, it’s stifling walls, regulations, lack of privacy, and corruption. He’d been placed there two years before, when the final foster family had had enough of trying to tame him. He almost regretted the decision to pit his will against the family.

Almost.

“Shitty. Can I get a light?”

The boy held out the lighter and Jesse got a closer look at those wounds as he took the Bic. Scabbing, a few days old at least, slightly red around the edges. “I go to a boarding school south of Albuquerque. Or did, anyway. Got kicked out last week. Pa’s fucking furious.”

“What did you do?” Inhaling a lungful of cigarette smoke - he was used to it, he’d been smoking since he was twelve - he handed the lighter back.

“Beat the shit out of a teacher for raising a hand at me one too many times.” The boy blew a plume of smoke into the air. “M’names Dominic. I’m what you might call my dad’s problem child. Which roughly translates to ‘I won’t blindly lay down and do what that miserable drunk tells me to.'” He turned to look at Jesse, scrutinizing him again. Those cool blue eyes felt like X-rays. Jesse knew he could beat him at poker or chess, but he’d be a good opponent. “So. You never answered. What’s it like knowing you’re the smartest thing in the room and having to play dumb?”

Jesse looked away, walking over to the wooden fence to stare at the distant herd of cattle. His boots crunched over exposed dirt and a few shards of broken glass.

“You’re not playing dumb by being silent, you’re just answering in another way,” said Dominic. “I been watching you since you got here at crack crow. You might have them convinced you’re just a dumb orphan without a thought in his head, but you don’t fool me. I can see the way you look at things.”

Jesse had to fight to keep from squeezing his cigarette and ruining it. There was no telling when the next time he’d get another was. Anger, hot and slow, pumped away under the surface, and he blew out another breath, watching the smoke rise in front of his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Can’t say I’m as smart as you, but I’m not an idiot. A couple of innocuous words at Uncle George flew over their heads, but not mine.”

Jesse slowly smiled. “Caught that, did you?”

“Yep. So. Cut the shit. How smart are you?”

Jesse turned around and leaned against the fence, eyes moving from Dominic’s eyes, to working over his body. Analyzing him.

He took another drag, drawing the moment out. Considering.

“You knocked over that liquor store out on 194 three days ago,” said Jesse, flicking ash from the dart. “You and someone else I never met yet. Horseback, too. Clever. You’re a good rider, can tell by your boots and your attitude. I know you robbed the place because the store owner grabbed your hand, and that guy’s got mighty long fingernails, just dug right into the skin there on your left wrist before you pistol whipped him to get him off. I’d reckon you did it with someone you met at your reform school.”

Dominic tilted his head back and blew out a plume of smoke. While Jesse spoke Dominic’s expression didn’t change, and he didn’t blink. He put Jesse in mind of a lazy rattler sunning himself on a rock.

“You stole all the expensive booze, cartons of cigarettes, probably emptied the register. I bet you even stole the gun that hoss keeps under the counter. Am I right so far?” Jesse didn’t look away either, and offered a smirk as he scratched the thin hairs on his chin. “You did pretty good. But you could do better.”

“You are fuckin’ clever, huh,” said Dominic. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ I did it. But are you telling me  _ I  _ could do better, or are you telling me I’d do better with you?”

Jesse licked his lips. “You’re a smart man. You can answer that.”

Dominic chuckled and picked up the bottle of bourbon, holding it out. “I got someone I’d like you to meet.”

“He as obvious as you are?”

“Obviously not since you didn’t just read their entire fuckin’ life story off my face,” said Dom. “But I bet she likes you. You’re good shit. I think I’d like having you around, Jesse McCree. You’re my kinda people.  _ Real _ people.”

Jesse felt oddly warm when Dominic said it. It made him feel defensive, but he walked forward to take the bottle and sat down next to Dominic regardless. “I’ll drink to that. Pleasure to meet you, Dominic.”

“Dom. And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Jesse McCree.”

_ Los Angeles, California - January 2020 _

Being out of the loop was not an easy thing. Even with all his attempts to keep current, coming out of prison two decades later, into a world controlled by the internet where your every movement had Big Brother tracking your digital footprints, was a struggle. Learning new technology, relearning your surroundings, blending in, all of it was work. Dominic could appreciate why some of the weaker ones inevitably wound up in prison again, whether it was a matter of an inability to cope or snapping on an idiot.

It was fortunate Dominic wasn’t weak. It was also fortunate that he had friends in high places. Or low, shadowy ones as it were.

He’d met with a man named Nguyen after escaping, if that was the right word, Black Canyon Penitentiary. Nguyen had been more than helpful, really, but he was more grateful to the mysterious person backing up the man.

_ Sombra. _

Apparently there was a job offer in for him once this was done. But that was for later. 

Now was for what Nguyen - and by extension,  _ Sombra  _ \- called ‘planned chaos.’ 

A job interview, if you will.

The basement of Our Lady of Perpetual Help was somewhat dated. Dominic remembered times in church basements at functions when he was a child, all of them inevitably updated to the latest in style thanks to the deep, devout pockets of the over-zealous of New Mexico. This, he thought, was almost refreshing. Perhaps being a religious establishment in Los Angeles didn’t pay well solely for the fact there were so many damn churches, but it was likely they did a lot of charity work if the ragged community calendar had much to indicate on the wall by the entrance. 

The green carpet was woolen and near threadbare in spots, the walls panelled with pine stained to resemble red mahogany. The chairs were mismatched as well, relics from the 70’s mixed with Ikea folding chairs, all placed in a semi-circle before a shabby looking podium.

Dominic sat in the back on one of the antiques, not trusting the folding chairs to hold his weight. He was trim and muscular, thanks to having little more to do in prison than work out, but heavy enough. His eyes were on the speaker, scanning them. Listening to their sob story. Knowing that they were using again, by the looks of things, despite proclaiming they were clean.

_ Liar liar, pants on fire. _

His eyes shifted away from them, disinterested. He’d listened to a NA meeting in prison once as well. Same shit, different pile, only this one was lucky enough not to have been busted by the cops or knifed someone in a cracked out haze.

It was damn near impossible for him to imagine Jesse McCree here in any capacity. To imagine him with his cowboy boots stretched out in front of him, a styrofoam cup of shitty black coffee in his hand as he tried to pay attention to whomever was talking.

Would Jesse even pay attention? Not the McCree that Dominic had known. McCree wouldn’t have come here, even if Ashe had begged him, and neither of them had been about to insist Jesse stop taking heroin. His abilities had only enhanced with use. And for Ashe, what had started in an investment of a  _ leash _ guised as an offer of help to calm his head, had turned into a labour of love on her part. She’d been enamoured seeing him at peace, buoyed by the euphoria of a fix.

Dominic sipped some more of the swill they were serving. He hadn’t touched the sweets, despite the party pack of costco baked goods being technically safe looking. He might not have even choked the coffee down if he wasn’t already used to the shit they served in the Black Canyon Commissary.

Once again, Dominic’s eyes roamed over the group. One of  _ these _ \- if he or she was there - was Jesse’s sponsor. The information hadn’t been provided the way the location of the group was.

_ He wouldn’t go for someone boring.  _ On first glance, that seemed to be most people.  _ He would go for someone interesting. Someone with a history of more than just using. Someone who’d piss off the Vishkar Bitch. _

Another sip of coffee. Was it the former gang banger and probable car-thief two seats ahead of him to the left? He was a big dude, Latinx, with long hair tied back into a ponytail. Dominic had made him for what he was between the expensive car up top that wasn’t registered to him and the prison tattoos. Potentially was just a mechanic now, thanks to the hard-to-remove grease stains on his rough fingertips, but Dominic had heard him promise to help one of the others to unlock their car before leaving. He was the right age.

Perhaps it was the older, seemingly innocuous woman down at the far right who was packing heat at the small of her back underneath of that tweed coat. It might have been just self defence, but he recognized murderer’s eyes when he saw them.

His last choice was the green haired Japanese man in the front row, nice and central to the action. His clothes were expensive. An Under Armour hoodie, Dolce and Gabbana sweatpants, Nike LeBron’s. Oakley’s sunglasses pushed over that hair. The newest iPhone. He was a walking advertisement, but that wasn’t what made him  _ interesting.  _

The first indication was the facial scars. They were partially hidden by his beard, thick by Japanese standards, but still evident. Dominic doubted they were caused by anything other than some kind of altercation with another human. The second was the tattoo.

He’d heard the man speak. Softly accented English, cultured no doubt by expensive prep schools - the man had  _ money _ \- and formal. But the tattoo on his right arm, just visible when he’d seen the man reach for a muffin, screamed  _ yakuza. _

The name he’d caught, Wantanabe, was no doubt a fake. It didn’t matter though. Dominic knew better.

So which one? If Dominic had to guess, it’d be the Yakuza.

Which left him with something of a conundrum. The message he wanted to send would work best with the sponsor. Determining it as fact would take time he didn’t really have, especially if Jesse had picked a criminal who would also be given to loyalty. 

That left…

His eyes slid to the leader. She was mid-forties, a mother at least twice, with a crinkly, poofy hair style no doubt brought about with a crimper or braiding. She was obviously clean, and very composed. Her fashion was bland, her only statement the homemade, colourful crochet scarf she wore. Her makeup was old and in need of replacement, covering up mild acne. 

She seemed like a sweet, kind woman. She’d already opened the meeting admitting she was a former heroin addict, with a positive note about how reconnecting with her kids and grandchildren was ongoing. Jesse wouldn’t have a problem with her. 

Shame, really.

When the liar left the podium, the woman - Carol, such a stereotypical name - walked up to the front. 

“Would any of our new friends like to come up and share?” she asked kindly. Her tone was raspy, vocal cords had once been abused by substance abuse or perhaps assault. Dominic met her gentle brown eyes but didn’t nod or shake his head. He merely stared until her gaze moved.

He finished the coffee.

The meeting wrapped up with getting their chips. Dominic had a little red chip now proclaiming ‘Day One.’ He resisted the urge to flip it like a coin as he held it in his palm. 

Instead he lingered by the coffee pot, reading the notice board above it. Church functions. The Auxiliary Ladies Circle. Dog walking adverts. Alcoholics Anonymous evidently met on Wednesdays. There were other forms of group therapy done there as well. He took his time reading over the notes as he listened to the people around him drone on about their week. What they’d done, who they’d seen, congratulations all around.

“You’re a new face.”

That accent. Dominic’s lips curled slightly before he looked over, the picture of innocence. “Who, me?”

“Yes. I come almost daily. So it’s easy to spot the newcomers.” He was shorter than Dominic by a good amount, but he stood solidly, moved in a controlled, catlike way. He was well trained. 

“Well now,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m new out of prison, and I kept to it inside, but I want to keep to it outside as well.”

Watanabe didn’t seem to be off put by the admission. “There are several people here who are in the same boat. I believe the dedication to the program prevents both relapse and keeps them able to transition back into day to day life. Genji Watanabe,” he said, holding out his hand.

Dominic pocketed the chip and returned the shake. Genji’s grip was firm. Strong. “Dom. Pardon if I don’t give my full name, but I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Oh, yes,” said Genji. “Don’t worry. We respect anonymity here.”

_ I’ll bet.  _

“So, will you be looking for a sponsor?” asked Genji. “It doesn’t need to be today, but it’s well advised.”

“Oh, I’m in the market for one, yeah,” he said pleasantly. “Seems to be all kindsa folk from all walks of life here. Hope I find a good fit.”

“Your accent. Where are you from?”

“New Mexico.”

Genji smiled at that. “Indeed? Well, I may have someone for you… he doesn’t take on people, but he might be good to speak to. To gain perspective.”

_ Jesse. _

“Well, that’s good to know.” He’d guessed right on the Yakuza. Seeing him move now, killing him would be tricky. Not impossible. But he might not come off completely unharmed, and he didn’t need an injury to hamper him while he was doing the rest of his hunting there in the area. Injuries would slow him down, or potentially make him more memorable than he’d like. 

Genji Watanabe was safe. For now.

“He doesn’t come often, but if we see you when next he does, perhaps I’ll introduce you.”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Watanabe.”

“Please, call me Genji.” A gentle smile, before he checked his watch. An expensive Apple watch. Whatever he did for a living, it paid well. “I have to take my leave. But I look forward to seeing you soon.”

A wave, and he was gone.

Dominic smiled after him.

Slowly, one by one, everyone filtered out besides Carol. The folding chairs were rearranged - there was a meeting, first thing in the morning - and the food cleaned and put away. 

“So now that everyone’s gone, did you want to talk?” she asked gently, walking over to him, her hands clasped in front of her. “It’s common with new faces to be a little nervous.”

“I did, really. Y’see I’m fresh out of prison and I need to find the right fit. Keep me on track, y’see.”

She nodded. “I completely understand. Well, our group here is very kind. We’ve got a strong community here. We even host barbecues, park days, bowling. That kind of thing. We really think that you need support in more than just talk therapy. Having people to meet, to see outside of the bubble that created turmoil in the first place is a big step.”

“Y’know, I really like the sound of that.”

Dominic was moving closer to her. She had pepper spray in her bag. Precious little good it did her where it was hanging on the rack. But he was angling himself in a friendly way, hands in his pockets. Casual. 

“Truth be told I could use the help trying to reconnect with old friends and family here too. Been at a bit of a loss of it, really. Folks I know’re flourishing never wrote or visited me. But I want to reach out.”

“Many of our members also go through that. Is it brothers, sisters?”

“A man like a brother, I suppose,” he said, within arm's length of her now. Still casual. “A sister, too. But she at least spoke to me, more or less. Him though… thought the world of him. Like to think he thought the world o’me. But betrayal. That’s a harsh, harsh thing to clear between some folks, y’know?”

She smiled sadly. “I do. I have use of this place a little longer. Would you like to talk about it? It may make sharing tomorrow easier.”

He took out the one day chip and flicked it in the air, watching it spin, before he caught it.

“I think I’d like that.”

He ran his thumb over the chip. “Jesse McCree sure is a complicated fella. You two get along?”

She blinked, taken aback. Her open friendliness was immediately replaced with caution. As she stepped to adjust herself towards her purse - and the protection it provided - he shifted with her, blocking the exit. “Excuse me?”

“He’s the one who put me in prison, y’see.” He flicked the chip again and caught it. The makeup around her eyes and lips was cracked, he noted. “And I really need to reconnect with him.” The chip danced across his knuckles now. “Send him a message that I want to get in touch.”

Her eyes darted past him only once - panicked, like a deer - before she lunged forward, trying to take him by surprise. He caught her wrist, fingers curling tight, and yanked her back hard. Her arm was thin, his fingers fitting around it easily, and it felt if he squeezed enough he might fracture it. The joint cracked when he swung her around and she screamed without air in her lungs, sounding like a dying cat.

“Now, now, now, ain’t it rude to just bolt on a man who’s tryin’ to have a conversation?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath for what it was - a building scream, trying to work enough back past smoking scarred lungs to make the sound worth it - and caught the back of her scarf through the poof of her hair with his other hand, yoking it back hard enough to make her cough and sputter. “H-help! Hel-”

Anger was starting to well up under the surface. Had to temper that. Couldn’t make this more red than it was. “You’re being  _ awful _ rude.”

Her hand came around to claw at him and he was quick to deflect it, head pulling back, a smile on his face as if she was nothing more than a willful cat that needed some tough love. At least she was something of a fighter, but she was so  _ brittle. _

“What do you  _ want?” _ she asked, spit on her lips from coughing.

“I told you, sweetheart,” letting go of her just long enough to get one hand around that frail throat. The scarf, it seemed, was to hide some sort of scarring. The skin of her neck was loose and wrinkled with it. There was some kind of story there he’d never get. “I’m sending a  _ message.” _

A sharp punch with his other hand left her dazed, blood from a split on her lip dripping down her lips. He’d have to be careful about his clothes, then.

He rubbed the chip on his shirt, clearing it of fingerprints, before he lowered it to her gaping mouth and shoved it inside. Her saliva would digest any epithelial’s left behind, leaving it clean of DNA. The second the plastic disk was on her tongue she began to squirm again and cough.

“So just be a good girl and hold on. You’ll be with God any time soon, if that’s your thing.”

The scarf bunched in one hand, he shoved it into her mouth, feeling her teeth work uselessly against the yarn, unable to bite down. 

His other hand around her throat now, he squeezed, and waited for the light to leave her eyes.

***

The following morning at 221B was tense. Jesse tracked Gabriel’s movement as they went about the bones of a routine. The other man had learned more about Jesse’s history in the span of a few hours than he figured Gabriel would have learned in a year. It wasn’t exactly light conversation, especially with Ashe’s inflections on why things had happened and how they’d gone down.

He’d tried to mitigate some of the problems. Murmured the truths he was willing to provide to Gabriel in the darkness as Ashe slept somewhere else. She’d drank most of the honey bourbon and passed out, delightfully drunk, with plenty of back-handed words to offer the two of them.

She was still asleep, probably. Jesse hadn’t checked back into Gabriel’s room. They were loathe to let her sleep there, but it had the least amount of things to snoop through. The door was still shut, with silence beyond.

Gabriel was still wearing that gun at the small of his back as he watched the toaster. He looked tired, with dark bags under his eyes. Jesse hadn’t been aware of his lack of sleep. He’d sounded much the same as he always did, but he supposed that Gabriel might have been feigning rest. Odd he’d done it so well.

Ashe had provided a lot of information though. Dominic’s headspace, or at least what she’d gleaned of it in the few times they’d been in contact. What she’d been doing. What contact she’d had with Bars.

Communicating with the latter would be out of the question, unfortunately, not if he wanted to avoid transcripts of the meetings that could potentially reach Jack. All calls would be recorded and transcribed, it was standard prison procedure. With Bars mute, meeting would involve a text to talk or sign language. Things that were easily interpreted and learned. 

That, and Bars probably wasn’t about to forgive Jesse for tossing him in jail without a second thought anyway.

That left finding all the old Vishkar evidence boxes, and evidence boxes of the subsequent job that Jesse had set up to collapse the entire game.

He wondered how willing Jack would be to just let him check them out of evidence, and considered turning to Fareeha and Sojourn instead. 

The toast popped, making the Cat jump. Jesse looked over as Gabriel pulled pieces of sourdough out and began to spread butter over them. Whatever was going on in his head was mostly a mystery, but judging by the look in his eyes it didn’t bode well for the woman still asleep.

Hearing past the butterknife scraping over the toasted bread, the clock, and 221B’s myriad of other background sounds, he heard a car pull up outside. The engine was a V8. 

“Jack’s here,” he said, sitting up. The Cat jumped from his lap the second he shifted, and disappeared behind the couch with a flash of orange fur. He was still on tenterhooks after having an unwelcome visitor in the house, and was feeding on Jesse and Gabriel’s negative energy surrounding the entire thing.

Two car doors slammed. Jack and Sojourn?

_ Dominic. It’s about Dominic. _

He blew out a breath. Had to relax. Calm. Find his center.

The butterknife was set down and he heard Gabriel crunch into his toast. Apparently Jack’s presence was not enough to put him off satisfying his need for a blood sugar boost. 

One set of heavy footfalls on the stairs suggested Jack, the other was the click of kitten heels.  _ Not _ Sojourn. Or Fareeha. Or Echo, as far-fetched as her coming around would be. 

Jesse stood as Jack’s fist pounded on the door, five hard knocks with the fleshy side of his fist and not his knuckles. He only made them wait a moment before standing as well and heading to open the door.

Jack, first. Usual cologne, wearing his dress blues. Shit was serious. But he was quick to look past him and at his companion.

5’4”, black and white hair in a stiff, professional bob. The scent of her perfume was expensive, probably Chanel. Ylang-ylang and orange blossoms. Her suit was easily a thousand dollars, and tailored. What was most familiar was the look she was giving Jesse now, eyes so brown they looked black, narrowed not in dislike but in assessment. She had more lines around her eyes and mouth now as well.

“Been awhile, Agent Liao.”

“I see you have a new place. The neighbourhood leaves much to be desired,” she replied. “We have to talk.”

As Jesse turned to wave them in, Gabriel had disappeared towards his room. Warning Ashe? Probably. Didn’t need her coming out and tossing a whole other level of unwanted speculation his way. 

“Is that so?” he asked lightly. “You need me to go somewhere and catch some bad guys?”

“Nowhere far,” said Jack. “We’ve got a lot to tell you. Firstly, though, were you at group last night?”

Jesse’s fist tightened. That was  _ not _ a question he was expecting to have asked. He rapped his knuckles on the counter, though. “Pretty sure my sobriety isn’t your business unless you’re bringing a cup for me to piss in.” His tone was warning.

“We’re not here to drug test you,” said Liao. “But what does the name Carol Ward mean to you?”

A cold feeling pulled at his spine. He didn’t turn to look back at them. “She dead?”

Jack’s voice sounded tired. “Jesse-”

“You already know she’s from  _ my _ group probably because you fucking follow me. Is. She. Dead?”

“Yes. And we think we know who did it.”

“Then you hardly need me, huh?”

“We do considering who it was.” Liao again. Soft. Attempting to soothe. Jesse felt nothing in that tone, and despised the pity. “I was going to inform you today regardless, but Dominic O’Brien escaped Black Canyon Penitentiary several days ago.”

“And what makes you think this one is him?”

“We were interviewing several other members of the group. One of them described a tall blond man with blue eyes from New Mexico. Even gave his name as Dom. The witness was one of the few people listed down in their real name as a volunteer in the deceased’s roster.”

Rage was starting to prickle under his skin now, buoying up in his chest, pressing like a balloon beneath his ribcage. His voice, however, remained calm. Controlled. “Who was the witness to that?”

“Genji Watanabe.”

His fingernails bit crescents into his palm, the skin stretching enough over his knuckles to turn them white. However Dominic had found which of the meetings Jesse only occasionally intended, he had. 

The door shut in the hall and Jesse looked up to meet Gabriel’s eyes. Those, at least, felt grounding.

“I take it you want my help to hunt him down?”

“We do,” she said, her voice still soft. He hated it.

“Then I want all the surveillance from Black Canyon Penitentiary and every scrap of information you’ve got from him - transcripts from old calls, visitors logs, any digital footprint he may have left in the last six months, I don’t give a shit how long. All of it.”

Jack cleared his throat. “We’d like you down at the crime scene as well.”

Like he was going to be kept from it. “Alright, Gabe’n’I will be along quick as you please,” he said. “Our Lady of Perpetual Help?”

“That’s the one.”

“Body still there?”

“Yes.”

“Give us a half an hour. And if Hammond is there, tell him to muzzle himself. I really will not have patience for snide remarks today.”

“Alright.” Jack sounded trepidatious. “It’s not all. Because of his choice we’ve decided you need to be in protective custody.”

“I decline.”

“McCree-”

“I. Decline.” He would not have anyone following him around, not with what needed to be done. “I am  _ well _ within my judicial right to wave offers of protective custody. That extends to the FBI. If I so much as get a sniff of a ghost car following me around, I can guarantee you Miss Basu’s very expensive lawyers are going to have words.”

There was a tense silence following that. “It was only for your protection.”

“I’ll bet. Now. Gabe and I will be along.”

_ Git, _ he didn’t say.

He also didn’t move until the door closed and he could hear both sets of feet retreat down the hall.

He had things he wanted to say. Rage about. It would feel good to pull his gun and shoot things, to push every single iota of violence out of his system. He wanted to make Dominic O’Brien  _ hurt. _

And he god damn well would.

“Ashe is up,” said Gabriel finally, now that they were alone. “Should we bother trying to lock her out of the apartment?”

“No. She’d pick the damn lock anyway. But she’s leavin’ to talk to Bob.” Jesse shook his head, going for his bedroom. His gun safe.

He wondered if he’d bother shooting Dominic when he saw him, or if he’d take a lot more time. He was betting on the latter.

Gabriel’s bedroom door opened and Ashe stepped out, wearing one of Jesse’s old plaid’s tied up into a top. The red was striking and bright against her snowy white skin. She was smirking, and didn’t seem to have any worry at all in those pink eyes.

“Quite the balancin’ act you’ll have to pull, workin’ for the feds and the cops while we get to the prize,” said Ashe.

“You ain’t got anyone you give a shit enough about to kill,” said Jesse, his tone cold as he stopped to stare at her. “But this is about more than the fucking money. So you just shut the hell up, Ashe, and let me work.”

“Let you work the way you worked over your entire family?”

“Pretty rich you think I ever had one. But I guess that’s what happens when you don’t know what it’s like to care about anything other’n’yourself.”

“You really think that?” she asked. He didn't care about how hurt she sounded, either.

“Yep.” He shut the door behind him hard, fighting the urge to bellow. 

_ Control. Had to remain in control. _ The words floated around in his head like little neon lights as he tried to ignore the stress and focus on the little details. The important ones. The ones that'd see him and Gabriel alive through this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


	4. Interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update a little later than usual... forgive me ^^;

For a lot of addicts, security was a key to sobriety. It was hung on the ring with routine, familiarity, support. Our Lady of Perpetual Help was one of those places. A small church built in the 60’s, with rattling pipes and no air conditioning to speak of, who used the money raised by parishioners to help the community rather than upgrade the manse just behind it or even do more than basic repairs on the church. 

The family also tried to prevent the inexorable march of technology. Fake cameras installed to watch the grounds, the most notable piece of security in the entire building an easily bypassed alarm system along with heavy metal bars on all the lower, easily accessed windows. There would be no surveillance to show Dominic coming and going. Just witness testimony from those willing to break anonymity to testify.

Considering they were all ex-criminals in some way shape or form? No counting on that.

Jesse stared at the pear green carpet the way he had on a lot of meetings, trying to drown out the stories. To disconnect. He wasn’t like most people, and he didn’t need the same set of keys as everyone else. He would make his displeasure known whenever Genji would ask him to a meeting, however infrequent. He hated churches, and generally despised everything they stood for. A few years in what amounted to a legal form of residential school had that effect on anyone. This pace generally made him want to rebel.

Yet, as he raised his eyes to look at the cloth covered body on the floor, he felt violated all the same.

This had been a place of his. Maybe not one he liked. But one he’d needed on occasion, one he’d use. Now it was tainted with an old shadow.

The worst part was, he even knew the message. Knew the  _ why. _

“Alright, let me see her,” he said, ignoring Hammond, who was glaring daggers into their end of the basement. 

A medical examiner he had no name for - Adawe was elsewhere that day - moved forward to pull the sheet back, and Jesse let out a slow breath. 

Carol Ward looked tiny in death. She wasn’t an over-large woman at the best of times. An off and on struggle with bulimia following her opioid addiction left her skinny, hands a little too large for her frail arms. Her head was haloed with her unnaturally frizzy brown hair, cushioned by it. Someone at least had closed her eyes recently.

He sighed. His eyes were on her throat. He’d only heard the story once. An Ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her but had been so fucked up he hadn’t been able to finish the job. The wrinkled and scarred mass of her throat was bruised with large and punishing ligature marks. Dominic had done it with his hands. 

The scarf that spilled out of her mouth reminded him of colourful vomit. He didn’t ask why they hadn’t removed it yet. No doubt Morrison’s doing, waiting for him to get here. Wanting the scene perfect. 

Jesse closed his eyes. He had to  _ be _ perfect now. He couldn’t let one thing go wrong. Not just for her sake, but his own protection. This was personal. His life was being spilled out for people to see. He had to control how much.

When he looked at her again it was more clinical. Banished from his mind were the coffee meetings and the quiet talks. No doubt she was only part of the message Dominic wanted to send. There’d be another somewhere on her body. He just had to find it.

Once he’d centered himself he walked forward and knelt down by the body, pulling on his nitrile gloves. First he removed the scarf. His fingers worked over the crochet a moment, imagining her making this, excited to wear it. He hadn’t seen this one before, so it was obviously new. A small amount of blood, he noted, and gently touched his thumb to a split on her lip, no doubt courtesy of Dominic’s fist. 

Scarf handed off to be bagged, he leaned in closer, tilting her head back as he looked inside her mouth. Yellowed teeth. Dislodged partial dentures. Obvious damage from her bulimia, but she was going through frequent dental visits for crowns. 

Ah. He spotted it. Red, plastic, like a cheap poker chip, a thin crescent peeking from behind her uvula. A slow breath out, before he picked up his tweezers and reached inside. 

The NA symbol on the back was obvious. He turned the coin back to see the word ‘welcome’ printed there in large block letters, with the slogan ‘One Day At A Time’ inscribed beneath.

There’d be no fingerprinting this. It had been in her mouth a good while, and though the saliva had almost dried up it would have removed everything.

The chip was set down for later inspection as he went back to what he was doing. A careful work over. Her fingernails were clean, cut into neat ovals. No blood. Either Dominic and cleaned and scraped them, or she hadn’t fought hard. Her wrist hung wrong as well, he noted, and when he turned the hand carefully, palm pinched between thumb and forefinger, he could hear the bones grind. A distal fracture, he’d guess. She was old enough to suffer from osteoporosis. Combined with the life she’d lead, he’d suppose either she’d fallen when Dominic had attacked her and it had broken, or it had been by his hand. 

He fitted his own fingers around it, looking at how her hand moved when he did.  _ He grabbed her. She tried to run. _

A glance at the chairs. Everything in place. Garbage hadn’t been changed. One of those coffee cups was probably Dominic’s as well.

He stood, looking at the chairs. Imagined Dominic walking down those creaky wooden steps and assessing what was there at the bottom.

With a blink, he began to walk forward. Dominic - the ghost of him that resided in the back of Jesse’s memories, pushed forward and prowled with him. It was easy enough to get into the character, his eyes moving over other ghosts still living that were there last night.

Janet, in the front row who was always armed because she feared her brother would come back. Close to the exits, and with mirrored sunglasses so she could watch her back at all times, even there, even in group.

Kay would be here with his mask on. Straight laced accountant, boring clothes, boring face, covering up the fact he was a cocaine runner for the Hell’s Angels. 

Other names sat down, some in the cheap Ikea folding chairs, others in the antiques. 

Antony, he’d be sprawling, legs wide. He didn’t care about others. A cigarette behind his ear. He bet Dominic would have stolen it without Antony feeling a thing.

Maria, over there, always clutching her rosary. Another drug runner who got lucky enough to get clean.

Genji, in the front row of course. Ramon, the far end of the room. 

An antique chair. Windsor, wheelback, walnut stain. Looked like they were made out of beech, without looking  _ too _ hard at them. It was situated in the very far back. Somewhere someone could rock on it, if they wanted.

Dominic wouldn’t rock on it, though. But the big man’s ghost stared back at him from it, a smirk on his lips.

_ You saw everything I’m seeing now. And you know almost as much about it, _ Jesse thought.

The ghost grinned. 

Jesse looked back at the rest of the place. He had no doubt in his mind that Dominic would have spent the evening assessing who was his sponsor. The question is did he guess right? Or was that was why he chose Carol?

He’d have to warn Genji again. 

Sitting down in the chair, Jesse stared at the rest of the room, hands loose in front of him. Trying to see  _ more. _ See what Dominic saw.

_ Derision. He would have hated this place just as much as you would have when you’re younger.  _

He sighed, wishing Dominic wasn’t who he was. That he was some other kind of nasty piece of work bent on revenge. Someone who’d fuck up, make mistakes. But Dominic wasn’t going to leave riddles and clues. The messages were just going to be obvious, mocking. Wanting to rub Jesse’s nose in it as he evaded detection.

The ghost which stood next to him leaned over, as Jesse envisioned Carol at the podium. It was a younger Dominic, barely in his twenties. The last  _ real _ time he’d seen him. The scent of the cologne Dom’d liked called  _ 212 Men,  _ that had smelled a little like lawn clippings and citrus to Jesse when Dominic had first started wearing it, presented itself as well, along with gun oil and Dominic’s preferred brand of cigarettes.

_ “It’s easy, McCree,” _ he said in Jesse’s ear, voice amused and resonant.  _ “You think you’re better than me. And I’m here to remind you that you’re not.” _

Nothing more to be gained there. Dominic didn’t care enough to do that.

He stood, peeling his gloves off. “Alright. Hammond can check it out now. Where’s her things?”

“Stolen,” said Fareeha. “According to our witnesses, she always carried the same handbag. It’s gone.”

He knew it. Distinctive, too. One of those ‘free-spirit, Bohemian’ type handbags, with sparkly beadwork and floral motifs that were probably taken straight out of some poor artist’s pocket in India. She was afraid of bright colours despite loving them, and let it shine in her accessories. 

“Track the phone?”

“It’s off.”

Of course. Dominic wouldn’t be that stupid. “He dumped it. He’d dump anything that could track him. She had an old Toyota Corolla. Did he take that?”

“It’s in the parking lot. He probably had alternative transport. We’re asking around if anyone recognizes new cars in the lot.”

Jesse grunted. There was a man in Group, Ramon, who’d know. He’d keep track of every vehicle in that lot just on instinct. He’d considered the man for his sponsor once, much to Echo’s irritation. Once this was done he and Gabriel would go visit him in his garage and ask him about it. Ramon didn’t need cops breathing down his neck.

“Too bad you weren’t there,” said Fareeha. “You’d remember.”

“It’d just be someone else,” he said wearily. “He never woulda showed his face had I been there.”

Someone had no doubt been watching him without setting off any of Jesse’s hard instincts. He generally felt paranoid in certain settings - call it an occupational hazard - but when he was being stalked he almost always knew.

Which meant someone was very, very good. Or someone was a rat.

Logical suggestions bounced in his head, but he swiped them aside as he considered motives and personalities. No one close to him would give out this information or track him. The only one who  _ could _ track him was Lynx, so far as he was aware.

_ Or Sombra. _

That didn’t exactly leave a nice taste in his mouth. Whoever he was, he was becoming a problem. And he wondered if it was them that had busted Dominic out as well, for fun. As Baptiste had told him before,  _ chaos means opportunities. _

He thought back to a little calavera, shining in the firelight. 

_ Kind regards. _ He snorted, shaking his head.  _ Yeah, I’ll bet. _

Now that he was back into his own head he noticed Gabriel hadn’t been there. Of course Gabe didn’t  _ always _ come in to watch Jesse be brilliant, but he felt it keenly enough that he didn’t have those big green eyes following him around in rapt fascination. It was a bit of an ego stroke.

Up the creaky stairs and into the front hall, the scent of the basement - coffee, doughnuts, and a hint of decay - gave away to the dusty, stale scent of the church. Someone had tried to spruce it up a bit with a few bowls of potpourri, to little success. A glance out the tiny window showed the usual suspects gathered on the lawn, as well as a press van beyond the yellow tape. Someone was trying to get in.

Gabriel was just outside of the vestibule, staring in dislike down the rows of pews. Each of those pews was as antique as the rest of the place, hard uncomfortable wooden benches, hymnals and Bibles stuffed into shelves before them. Sunlight danced through stained glass windows and made the motes turning in the stuffy air visible.

“Problem?” he asked, coming up behind Gabriel. “You don’t normally avoid the crime scene.”

“I was curious if O’Brien came in here.”

Jesse looked over the space again, trying to envision him there. To spot him among the potential, secret crowd of parishioners come to worship. Not an easy thing, even though they both came from highly religious background. Dominic because he was born into it, Jesse because he was forced.

“See anything?”

“No.” A chuckle. “Mostly because, after a few minutes of looking, I realized you wouldn’t come here. So why would he?”

Jesse put his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t expected Gabe to pick up on that detail just yet. “Care to elaborate?”

“He’s trying to invade your spaces. I think we’re going to have to up security somehow at the house.”

Jesse frowned at that, remembering a tiny little place he rented - and never used - as an impromptu spot for meeting clients he thought might be dangerous. It was annoying it had slipped his mind until just then, but if 221B was his base of operations that would be the crown jewel, the last choice. That little office, however, was ideal for what Dominic would want to do.

“I bet I know where he goes next,” said Jesse, his tone low. “We should check it out before Jack and Liao think of it.”

“Perfect. Forgot a nickel for the collection tray, anyway.”

Jesse snorted. “You wanna fuck behind the altar first, just to cap the day off?”

“Maybe next time.”

His phone buzzed. Jesse pulled it out, expecting Ashe but seeing Morrison’s number instead.

**[SMS From:** Captain Tightpants **]** What’s the word?

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Morrison wants to gab.”

He led Gabriel out the back to avoid the press van, which gave him enough time to brush his hair away from his face and take off the cowboy hat so he looked a little less important. Naturally they’d rather a statement and a shot of a mangled corpse, but he still walked down the alley way to ensure no one got a candid of him.

The second Liao spotted him she turned on heel at once and began to head over. Morrison glanced at her movement, marked Jesse and Gabriel, then turned back to the reporter.

Good. Liao could fill him in.

“Well?” she asked expectantly.

Jesse frowned at her. “Obviously he’s trying to rile me up. You didn’t need me here. The motive is clear, and we know who he is.”

“It was less bringing you here to deduce the crime scene and more bringing you here to deduce his next move,” she replied crisply. “Don’t accuse me of dull thinking.”

Jesse narrowed his eyes at the woman, but she stared resolutely back. While her partner, Petras, was a sorry excuse for a federal agent, Liao was not. She was astute, observant, and a woman of few words. If it had been two Liao’s against him with Echo in the mix, Jesse wasn’t sure he’d be on the right side of a jail cell. 

“Not sure yet. I can’t think of anything else I do publicly that he disapproves of.”

“You think he is showing displeasure in what you do?”

He shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“Do you think we should also extend our search to Elizabeth Ashe? She also evaded jail time.”

Another shrug. “Last I heard she was scamming people in Miami. But you could certainly give her a call.”

“She was recently seen in Los Angeles,” said Liao, studying Jesse’s face. “Considering he is moving without stolen property - so far as we know - then one must assume someone is funding him. Given her background and inheritance, she is a likely choice.”

“I’m guessing Carol’s credit cards ain’t been used.”

“Not so far. But we haven’t frozen them, just in case.”

Time to call a Lyft and get out of there. He’d seen a Starbucks down the street, and he felt like a coffee would hit the spot. “Can’t see what else you’ll get from me then. Maybe send the security footage from around here, if there is any. When do I get what I requested on Dominic?”

“It will be at your home this evening. And Jesse?” she called, as he turned to walk away with Gabriel. “I sincerely hope you do not hide anything from us. For both of your sakes.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’d never dream of it, ma’am.”

**

García Automotor was a dingy looking sort of place, and admittedly not far from Mariana’s. Gabriel found himself scanning it as they approached on foot, but there wasn’t much to say about it. Probably built in the 70’s, and it had a peeling Champion Oil logo on the front window. 

The area itself wasn’t the best, but so far no one out of place. He’d also looked over the cars, but he couldn’t see anything suspicious close by, and anything further was obscured by the glare of sunlight on glass. He didn’t get the feeling that they were being followed, though, and he’d observed traffic the entire time they’d driven in the Lyft. So far as he could see there wasn’t a single tail, ghost car or otherwise. Jesse’s threat about Echo’s lawyers remained true. 

A blue nose pitbull raised its head as they passed the gate, a low grow rolling from its chest, before it barked to get the owners attention. The dog was broad, a true mark of its breed, and its whip-thin tail swished in the dust as he watched. There weren’t any scars, though, and he looked well fed, so no signs of abuse. He was chained, but Gabriel was willing to bet if it rushed them they’d be in distance.

“Hey pooch,” said Jesse as they passed. 

Gabriel smiled.  _ “No queremos problemas, perrito.” _

The dog wagged its tail again, whining. 

When they entered the shop there was a little buzz from further inside. The air conditioning wheezed despite the time of year, but the little shop was stuffy and hot. 

_ “Un momento!”  _ a voice called from the back.  _ “No toques la campana.” _

He leaned against the front desk counter. The place was run down, with old cracked black and white linoleum and fixtures probably over 20 years old given nothing more than a loving cleaning. The air smelled strongly of motor oil and the tang of fresh cut metal, which mostly cut over the skunky scent of pot. Products were neatly displayed on patched shelves, though, and a tube TV was playing local ads. In one corner there was also an old CCTV camera pointing at them. No doubt in the back was a TV screen with his and Jesse’s faces in black and white.

Gabriel scanned over the price of an oil change. Seemed on par with most. “So, this guy on the level?”

“Ramon? Mostly,” said Jesse casually. “Whatever car you buy from him will purr like a kitten but the parts he uses might be suspect.”

There was a clatter before the door from the rear opened. Somewhere beyond an impact was going, rattling away, and he could hear the hissing crackle of metal being welded. Through it stepped a big guy, though, his long hair tied back. He was dressed in old, but well-mended overalls, arms covered with tattoos.  _ He did time, _ thought Gabriel, staring at a few of them with their thick, inaccurate lines. His nametag confirmed this was Ramon.

He frowned at Jesse, wiping his hands with a flannel rag. “You’re from group. You shouldn’t be here, mang.”

“Yeah, it’s because of group that I’m here. You recording out here?”

Ramon narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because if the cops show up with a subpoena I don’t want them knowing I was here,” he said. “Carol was killed last night. After group.”

Ramon’s eyes widened, worry sudden on his face. “You gotta go before you bring any kind of heat down on me. I’m not about that, I’m clean-”

“And I know you didn’t do it,” said Jesse, cutting in before things could escalate far. “I need to know if you recognized a new car in the lot last night, that’s all.”

The mechanic turned his gaze to Gabriel. “You a pig?”

_ “Solo un perro perdido,” _ Gabriel replied. 

Ramon looked back at Jesse, obviously unsatisfied with the answer. “He safe?”

“I wouldn’t run with him if he were a cop.”

The other man chewed his lip a moment. “Yeah. I saw one. Honesty I mighta missed it but the guy driving it was new and I marked him right away.”

“Tell us what you know. This is all off the books.”

Ramon nodded. “Alright. Well… this dude is big. And obviously ex-con. He had a prison tat on his elbow. Spider-web. Pretty well done, too, guy had a solid artist. But he also had like, two other tat’s, not from prison. Too clean for that.”

“Diamondbacks,” said Jesse with a nod. “What was he driving?”

“It was real bland and he parked it as out of the way as he could, but I still marked it. Nice enough you might not get pulled over by the cops, too, especially if you’re white. Lincoln Continental, 2019, in Iced Mocha Metallic. So either he had a rich squeeze coming out or he stole it.”

_ Or was given it, _ thought Gabriel. Jesse had shared his thoughts and suspicions on this having something to do with Sombra.

“Anything else?”

“Nah. He just stared a lot. I can tell he wasn’t some dumbass. He was one of those careful ones. Likes to run the show.” Ramon frowned. “You think he killed Carol?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. Just keep your head down, okay? And keep our names out of this if the cops come around.”

“Ey, no prob. I ain’t talking to some pig. You know what’s going on with group?”

“Haven’t the foggiest,” said Jesse, pulling his card. “You don’t show this to the cops either, but if you think of anything call me.”

Ramon took the card and tucked it into his breast pocket. Gabriel was willing to bet it would go straight into the trash. “Right, right.”

The buzzer went off as they left. The dog lifted his head to look at them, but since they were leaving calmly it went back to sunning itself, laying on its side with its big paws stretched out.. 

“That’s not a cheap car,” said Gabriel as they walked down to the curb.

“Definitely fuels the ‘he’s being funded’ theory,” said Jesse. “Trying to decide if I want to talk to Baptiste or head home for that footage before Ashe gets back from seeing Bob at the MCJ.”

“I’d suggest splitting up-”

“Nope,” said Jesse, turning to fix Gabriel with a penetrative look. His amber eyes were at once lit with an almost hostile protective light. “Not a fucking chance.”

“-but since Baptiste isn’t about to go turning anyone in, we could have him around for coffee.”

Jesse considered it a moment as he pulled a cigarillo from a well crinkled pack and put it to his lips. “That’s not bad. And I’ve got one of my neighbours keeping an eye on my office, so… guess we can do that and hope he’s not busy.”

Gabe offered his lighter and watched Jesse puff as he lit it. The scent of tobacco made him want one of his own, but he’d finished his pack and was trying to cut down in the cigars. Angela was hounding him about hypertension.

“So one thing I do have to ask,” said Gabriel, while they were alone. “When we meet Dominic, I’m assuming he’s not going to get a chance at jail time again?”

“Nope,” said Jesse again, this time much more casual. “And if Liao’s right, and Ashe is funding Dominic and trying to play me like a fiddle, she’s not going to get off so lucky this time neither.”

Gabriel decided against asking for a cigarillo and took the pack from Jesse’s pocket. There were a few things that made him want a smoke. Talking about murdering a couple of people were one of them.

“I’ll back your play,” he said, after it was lit. His eyes tracked a car driving down the street, but the driver was latinx. Obviously not Dominic. “It’s not like you didn’t back mine last month when-”

Well. That had been a rough night.

Jesse bumped Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’ll be our play, when the time comes.”

Gabriel was about to call another rideshare to get going when Jesse spoke up again, flicking away ash from the cigarillo.

“You like Westerns, Gabe? I know you’ve read em. But do you like em?”

“I never liked them as a kid. But now that I’ve been with you I can see a lot of poeticism in them now.” He was curious where this was going.

“Dom was a lot like that too. Didn’t go as much for symbolism. Poetry. Appreciated it, especially from… well, from me. But his mind didn’t go that way. At least, not back then.”

Gabriel didn’t reply, waiting for the elaboration as Jesse took another puff.

“Can’t help but wonder if this is less a punishment and more him trying to drag me into the light… or out of it, is all,” he said finally. 

A puff of his own. He’d never really lived  _ in  _ the light himself. The past twenty odd years had been full of black operations and death. Gabriel was not a good man, and he knew it. Jesse hadn’t always been what society would call a good man, but Gabriel knew he  _ was _ good. “Trying be the operative word.”

“Trying.” Jesse’s mind was working over something. Exactly what, Gabe couldn’t say. But he knew what it would be if it were him. Contingency plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading


	5. Outside and Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaa, okay, sorry for the late update. A bunch of home stuff happened and I wasn't able to finish this thing on time (and I've been really, really tired adjusting to a new schedule). I HOPE I'll have the next chapter properly on Wednesday, and that I don't bork this whole update thing.
> 
> Thanks for your patience!

Jean-Baptiste Augustin looked down at the two of them, a single eyebrow raised in assessment as his coffee steamed. “You look like shit.” The words were delivered matter of fact, and it made Gabriel snicker.

“I’ve got a good excuse,” said Jesse defensively.

They were out behind Angela Ziegler’s clinic. Gabriel had been meaning to come by and help the doctor out at some point and fix up the backyard, where was usually the only place the doctors and nurses could come have a quiet break, and even then had to dress down to look like average people. The yard itself was dilapidated, and the privacy fence in need of staining. 

Baptiste, for his part, looked tired himself. But working as an illegal doctor and trying to cover your bills with part time work at a local grocery store couldn’t be the easiest thing in the world.

He sat down with a sigh. “Well, you could try moisturizing the bags under your eyes.”

Since getting to know Jean-Baptiste Augustin, Gabriel had come to find that he was a man of dry humour and quiet intensity. Once he’d forgiven the man for nearly putting a hole in his head he’d found he rather liked him.

The three of them were sitting on blue resin chairs that were possibly older than Jesse, scratched and abused from years of use and getting handed around. For his part, Baptiste was on break and was sipping coffee from an old chipped mug. Jesse was smoking. With all this stress, Gabriel figured a few players tobacco industry were about to have their stocks go up.

“What can you remember about Nguyen?” asked Jesse, dismissing the teasing. 

Baptiste didn’t reply right away, sipping his coffee a moment, before he looked over at Jesse and frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Because there’s a real chance someone else is getting sponsored to cause some chaos,” said Jesse. 

“How fun,” he said. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to offer much insight, as I’m certain his first name isn’t ‘mister.’ And you’ve asked me all this before.”

“We could use a refresher,” said Gabriel. 

Baptiste sighed. Gabriel couldn’t blame him for being hesitant. It was probably a part of his life Baptiste wanted to leave good and far behind. After all, he wouldn’t be there in LA, working off a debt in an illegal clinic if  _ Sombra _ had never reached out to him.

“Nguyen met with me two days after Sombra called me and I’d agreed to her terms. I was hiding in the country outside of Port-au-Prince, terrified out of my mind, thinking any knock on my cousin’s door would be the  _ police nationale _ come to get me, that if Sombra had so easily determined this outcome they certainly would too. He came to the home, though I couldn’t say how he knew I was there. We spoke in the yard. It seemed very surreal. This man dressed for business among the clucking hens.”

“What did he look like?” asked Jesse.

“Not tall. Perhaps… one hundred and sixty to one hundred and seventy centimeters? I am not a good judge. He had an accent, so I do not think he was american. His skin was not light, his eyes were very near black. His hair was close cropped at the side, very neat. He… I remember thinking he smelled expensive. Cologne or soap I wasn’t sure. His suit was also expensive, as were his shoes. His watch… I really remember that. Tiffany, lots of gold, alligator skin. I remember thinking if I beat him and took his watch, it could help a lot of my family.” A shake of his head. “I suspect he was armed, though.”

“Anything else?” asked Jesse.

“Not much. He also wore glasses. Square framed. Gold as well.” He shrugs. “He had a briefcase as well, but he left it with me. It was full of my papers. I was to take a public flight, and stay at a certain hotel. My… work package was waiting for me in Miami.”

“Did he ever contact you again?”

Baptiste shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Not in person. Just on the phone, telling me where another package would be waiting. After you caught me, I’ve heard nothing. I called home, and the clinic is fine so far, but I worry what might happen if Sombra isn’t pleased with what happened.”

“Mm. I got a feeling what’s happening now might have something to do with it,” said Jesse. “If they come to you again don’t use your phone to contact me. Either come straight to us or use one of the others’s phones.”

“Yes sir,” said Baptiste mildly. “Should I be watching my back?”

“Always watch your back.”

Baptiste considered his words. “I hope you catch them quickly.”

“Me too.”

Gabriel clicked his finger against the handle of his cane. He was still using the one with the steel pommel, just in case he had to hit someone with it. As he thought about Nguyen it sparked a little something in his own head, and he tapped the tip of his cane into the dirt. 

“Did you notice anything about his body language? Or perhaps what kind of car he took to meet you?”

Baptiste shrugged. “I was very scared at the time. The car was expensive, however. Black. My cousin joked about stealing the tires. It’s not a wealthy area, and the man flaunted his wealth.”

“Or he was some kind of private security or military,” said Gabriel. 

Jesse’s phone vibrated. Judging by the irritable grumble in his throat, Gabriel was leaning to bet it was Ashe finished with her work visiting Bob Butler in jail, and it signaled an end to this little talk.

Baptiste was eager to be away, it seemed, as he disappeared back into the house. Gabriel was thoughtful, and going over a list of people in his head he could ask about the name Nguyen.

“You got a thread?” Jesse asked when they were out of earshot of anyone else.

“I’ll have to make a call to Washington. But… maybe. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Jesse reached out to squeeze Gabriel’s hands. His fingers were warm and welcome. “Me? Never.”

**

The sound of Elizabeth Ashe sniffing in disdain was fast becoming his least favourite sound. Gabriel would rather listen to the Cat hacking up a hairball in the carpeted hall. “Ugh. How d’ya live with this stuff?”

Gabriel’s eyes lifted slowly from the box that had been dropped off a few bare minutes ago to find Ashe, thankfully in her own damn clothes, going through their cupboard. As far as Gabriel was concerned the groceries were perfectly adequate, but apparently not for their rather rich house guest. 

“I mean fer god’s sake,  _ Tetley? _ Can’t even buy a decent brand of tea.”

“You know Los Angeles has a lot of hotels,” he said, tone almost neighbourly. “I could even look a few up for you.”

She snorted. “I mean, sure, if y’want to make sure I don’t make the night.”

“No skin off my neck,” he said. “Really, five minutes on Trivago and we’ll have you set up.”

Jesse walked in from the back, arms laden with several binders of his own. He’d been in a quiet sort of mood between talking to Ramon  García and Baptiste, and Gabriel hadn’t bothered pushing it. Whatever was on Jesse’s mind would probably be learned soon enough.

“Yer  _ associate _ -” she drew the word out obnoxiously with an emphasis on the first syllable, and Gabriel wondered if she’d accepted - or figured out - he and Jesse were together yet, “-s’being a right unwelcoming prick.”

“Couldn’t have anything to do with an uninvited house guest, huh,” said Jesse, unphased. “You haven’t told me yet what Bob had t’say, so spit it out Ashe. Ain’t got all day.”

She made a grumbling sound in her throat but switched the kettle on. Apparently when no one was indulging her spoiled ass she could settle for Tetley. “Once I got my tea.”

Jesse didn’t reply, and instead motioned Gabriel over. “These are my files - though they aren’t as neat as anything I made later - on the Vishkar trials back in 2001.” He paused, then raised his voice. “They also only contain official evidence, for anyone planning on going through these with ulterior motives.”

“I already know you hung us out to dry, Jess. I ain’t need any proof,” said Ashe, her tone cool. “I also made my peace with it.”

Jesse didn’t reply, which made Gabriel wonder how long it’d take for the jabs to get to a head. 

“So something about Bars might be in there?” asked Gabriel.

“Mhm. Something I may have missed or not given a shit about at the time.”

Gabriel was curious about those, but he kept unloading the plastic tote that was brought by a few stoic looking FBI grunts. He’d asked if they had anything for them and they’d been as evasive as Gabriel expected before they’d left in their rental car.

_ At least they didn’t skimp on the request.  _ Inside was an array of coloured duotang folders, covering every aspect of Dominic O’Brien’s life in Black Canyon Penitentiary dating back six months, tucked neatly along plenty of jewel case CD’s from various surveillance. Whatever intern had covered these had neat penmanship, at least. 

“There is enough video feed here to keep us busy for a month just watching,” said Gabriel, looking at one labeled  **‘gym, 07/08/2019.’** “Just to pinpoint the times when he’s actually there.”

“We can cut down on the shit by focusing on certain things. We’ll want visitor’s logs, phone calls, inspections, e-mails, computer usage and library usage. Maybe medical too. It’ll show us who he mighta had contact on the outside with.”

The kettle began to bubble before the switch snapped it off. “They keep all that stuff?” asked Ashe.

“Written letters too, Ashe,” said Jesse. “You got something in there you don’t want us to see?”

“Not a damn thing,” said Ashe, pouring hot water into a mug. She at least sounded self assured. 

“Then as we’re picking and choosing what to look at first, you can regale us with the tale of your visit.”

Ashe sniffed loudly. Gabriel had to wonder if she was scraping her spoon so much on the mug on purpose. “Don’t see why y’want all this anyway. We need that take, not a psyche profile.”

“If I can find him first then I can leave that  _ take _ to rot where it belongs,” Jesse replied.

Gabriel, who hardly took his eyes off the woman, was certain he noticed her nose wrinkle in distaste, and doubted it had anything to do with the tea. 

With a sigh, and hooking his cane over his arm, Gabriel lifted the tote and headed from the kitchen table to where he could sit at his chair more comfortably and go through it piece by piece. 

“Actually,” said Jesse, following along, “I’d like you to review  _ these. _ I’m gonna go over em again, but you’re a new set of eyes.”

Gabriel looked up to see a few of the binders in Jesse’s hand, as well as a moleskine ledger. He took them with a frown, but truth be told he was glad to have the opportunity. However clinical it might be, it could also be a learning opportunity about Jesse and the man he used to be.

Ashe followed them over and sat down on the couch, an obvious frown on her face. Her red eyes lingered on the books in Gabriel’s hand -  _ not interested, my ass,  _ he thought - before she yawned and leaned back, one leg over the other. 

“Well,  _ my _ visit with Bob wasn’t that interesting,” she said. “Bars didn’t wanna talk to me. An’ Bob insists that Bars has taken to even more silence than ruined vocal cords might suggest. Guess the two of them have had their friendship cool off some in the last eighteen years.”

Jesse didn’t reply as he sorted duotangs into several piles. He glanced at her only once, which made Ashe huff and continue.

“Bob says Bars did once talk about that take and how he had it hidden in the area, but Bars said he wasn’t gonna give it up, since Bob didn’t agree to killin’ a certain cowboy when they got outta prison.”

Jesse shook his head. “Uh huh.”

“S’what Bob said. Bob’s always been thankful you didn’t let me get tossed in the slammer too. Bars, not so much.”

“So did Bob actually say anything useful or are you just gonna take your time?” asked Jesse. He’d found a jewel case he was after, apparently, and went to the TV, crouching over the DVD player.

“He said the best information he ever got was something about an old ranch,” she said. “And considerin’ at my last look how many damn farms are down here in SoCal, that don’t narrow it down much.”

“Anything else?”

“Bob says ‘hi.’ He’s also worried Dom’s gonna hook us up to car batteries and electrocute us to death.”

“Dom’d go for branding first.”

Gabriel glanced at the TV. Security footage. Small type in the corner denoted the wing and level, and a time ticked away. Guards moved. Prisoner’s cells were closed. Odd, Gabriel figured, for full daylight in a US prison. Usually there was work or they were allowed to wander freely, more or less. The guard with the assault rifle gave him pause.

“Do they usually walk around with AR-14’s?” he asked.

“Hmm.” Jesse picked up one of the duotangs and began to flip through it before he landed a page near the back. “Looks like most of the CCTV footage was down that day… and a riot occurred in another area. Dom’s wing was on lockdown. Most of the other guards were busy.” 

Jesse set the book aside, leaning in, fingers laced. Even Ashe was quiet as they watched. Dominic appeared quick enough when several more guards came in, these armed with shotguns. Benelli M4’s, probably loaded with rubber shot. Dominic, however, merely leaned against his bars, arms through the access slot. If he didn’t recognize the face, the tattoo’s - two snakes - were distinctive even at a distance. 

The picture slid slightly, which seemed odd, but whatever it was it made Jesse mutter under his breath.

There was no sound to be seen. A few mouths moved, but the footage was of a poor resolution so he couldn’t read their lips well either. He figured Dominic said ‘wouldn’t dream of it’ to whatever the guard was telling him, but it was only half of an exchange.

The video feed itself didn’t last much longer. As one of the guards went to open one of the cells, they all opened simultaneously. The electric locks must have gone, because each of the doors was coasting open, setting the guards on a panic to lift their guns, as the inmates replied by raising their hands. Even Dominic, though the motion was slow and insolent. 

The man looked at the camera, he noticed.  _ Winked. _

The feed went purple and cut out. 

“The fuck?” said Ashe.

Jesse didn’t say anything for a moment. Even at that angle, Gabriel knew that light in his eyes. Puzzle time. “Boy, he’s tricky.”

“Y’think somehow Dom did something?” demanded Ashe.

“Not Dom. I’ve got to make a call to a friend,” he said, standing. “I wonder if they’ve ever hacked into a prison network before.”

Gabriel leaned back, knowing they’d officially lost Jesse for the next hour as he negotiated with Lynx.

“S’that about?” she said.

Gabriel shrugged, opening the first of the binders. He figured they’d need to make a trip down to the evidence lock up for the old case files as well. He supposed Jack might give those up. “You may as well make yourself useful watching DVD’s, Ashe.”

“We shouldn’t be wasting time on that,” she muttered sourly, but she got up anyway, to root through the tote bin for something to watch.

Gabriel stared at her for a moment. She was still put out, though by what he couldn’t really say. Not yet. But she was doing what was asked of her. It might be more a matter of her ‘playing along.’ 

His eyes dropped down to look at the index.  _ Crime scene photos. Physical evidence. Testimonies and interrogation transcripts. Psyche evaluations. Notes. _ Sorted by person. Ashe and Dominic were at the end. He thought about going there first, but opened to the first - the triplets. Apparently Jesse just lumped them together as a single unit. 

Another glance at Ashe, who was still looking haughty and sorting through jewel cases, before he settled in to read.

**

As predicted, Jesse didn’t come back right away. He was busy, turning over everything he’d seen in his head and talking to Lynx, who would no doubt delight and worry about breaking into such an organization. Gabriel knew full and well to let Jesse’s thought processes go. When he needed him, he’d say something. 

Jesse had only talked about the Vishkar heist, and now it was at his fingertips. He also had the one that had followed, a far less impressive seeming robbery that Gabriel would argue had a lot more mastery and was even more interested in. Gabriel had never wanted to pry deeply into it. He respected Jesse’s distance, after all. But he had to wonder how Ashe and Dominic, and any of the others, hadn’t expected a set up.

Maybe it was just the fact he was getting to know Jesse fairly well, maybe it was because he was tactically minded, but it seemed like there were plenty of tells in Jesse’s selection and how he’d organized people to move. 

_ Or maybe they’d known and tried to outsmart him, _ he thought. 

Ashe’s file detailed a lot about her. Her home life as the heiress to the Ashe fortune, an old money family who’d "moved to the colonies" and had run several plantations before getting into the oil industry in Texas. Her father had been a CEO of a private Oil Refinery that had plans to expand (which, it seemed, Elizabeth had sold to Exxon after his death), and her mother had been a socialite who headed a charitable fund with a rating on par with Susan G. Komen. He skimmed the medical report. Type one oculocutaneous albinism, eye surgery when she was 12, a slew of other health problems. Psyche report mentioned disruptions in school, parents refusing medication and treatment. 

She was, he supposed, an easy enough puzzle. Which made him wonder where she fit in now. 

He was getting ready to look at Dominic’s when his phone buzzed. He half expected it to be Jesse texting from the office, wanting him to come over without the bother of calling for him, but froze a little when he saw the message, which was followed swiftly by a second.

**[SMS:** Mari **]** ven y llévame al hospital

**[SMS:** Mari **]** estoy sangrando y necesito ayuda con los niños

“Fuck.” His left hand shook so sharply he dropped his phone, fumbling it into his lap, before he was hauling himself out of the chair. He had enough presence of mind to hold onto his binders, especially when Ashe turned a watchful eye on him. He didn’t even take his cane as he hurried to the office.

Mariana had revealed the pregnancy at Christmas, though she’d been hesitant to do so. The last time she’d been pregnant it had ended in a miscarriage, and that time Gabriel had been on the other side of the world, and completely unaware. After everything that had happened between her and Diego since Halloween, he knew she was trapped without help. He was all she had. 

He couldn’t let her go through that again. 

Jesse glanced up as he came in. “Sorry, just finished with Lynx, and I-”

“I need to go get Mari to the hospital.”

“Wait what?” Jesse was on his feet at once, and quick to close the door behind Gabriel. His eyes were intense and a touch suspicious. “She call?”

“No, she texted, but Mari always texts,” he said by way of explanation. “Here’s your files. I didn’t want Ashe to get at them. I have to go.”

When Jesse took the files his hand closed around Gabriel’s left hand, which shook in his own. Jesse watched it a moment, then looked up to scan Gabriel’s face. “Call her. Now.”

“Jess-”

“Just humour me. I know it’s from her phone’n’all, but. The timing’s not good.”

“Miscarriages are never good timing,” he snapped, but pulled his phone out again.

He hit the reply button and lifted the phone to his ear, listening to it ring out as he watched Jesse’s eyes. His mind was full of mental images of her crying on the toilet, or dealing with the kids while she was in pain, trying to put on a good face.

_ “Hola, you’ve reached-” _

He hung up. “Mari’s voicemail.”

“Her's exactly?”

“Yes. And I appreciate the worry but Ashe can’t come and we’ve got a lot of shit to do otherwise. I will leave my phone gps on so you can keep an eye on it if you want, and I’ll call you every time we move somewhere, if that’s what it takes to get your mind at ease.”

“Don’t like that. It sounds like I’m stalkin’ you.” Jesse’s jaw worked a moment as he considered. Gabriel didn’t blame him for his reservations, but given Mari’s history this couldn’t be denied either. “You take your gun, too, though.”

“Already got it,” he said. He hadn’t taken it off except to sleep, and even then it was near at hand. “He ain’t getting the drop on me. I’ll kill his ass.”

“Try not to kill him fast. I want a piece too.”

Their kiss was brief. Gabriel took his cane and was out the door in a few moments, ignoring Ashe calling after him asking where the fire was. He’d texted for a rideshare before he hit the street, and as he waited on the sidewalk he called Mariana several more times. 

Voicemail, voicemail, voicemail.

And a glance up at 221B’s window showed Jesse watching him, his arms crossed, eyes near unreadable, but he knew the other man was worried about more than just a potential medical emergency. Gabriel wished the Lindholm’s were home, because at least then he’d be able to drive himself. He’d have to look into buying a car instead of relying on borrowing, and filed the idea away for future considerations. Considering Echo kept him paid the idea wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility.

An older gray Kia Sorento pulled up. Gabriel gave the window of 221B a last glance before he opened the door and slid inside. 

It was clean, at least. He could smell the driver’s perfume, a blend of fruits and flowers that was a touch strong, which gave him a pause as he looked at the back of their head. She was putting on lipstick in the mirror behind the driver's side sun visor.

“You know, you don’t look like a Roberto,” he said, hand on his seat belt buckle, ready to bolt.

She laughed, adjusting the rear view mirror. Her voice was pleasant, and he caught sight of her dancing brown eyes in the mirror. A very pretty woman, all things told. Younger than Jesse. “Roberto is my brother. He’s sick, but he needs the cash, so I’m just using his to help out. You won’t  _ snitch,  _ will you?”

“Nah. Just… hurry, alright?”

“Of course,  _ viejo. _ Of course.” She glanced at him again in the mirror as she pulled into the street. “You seem pretty worried. Should I step on it?”

“Don’t get us pulled over.” 

“I  _ never _ get pulled over.” She smiled, and glanced at him again. Interest in her eyes? Or just curiosity. Jesse was so on edge it might be bleeding off into Gabriel now, reading into a stranger’s every move. “Just relax, we’ll be there soon.”

“Mm.” He’d relax when he was with his family, anyway.

The drive was quiet, at least for a few minutes. The driver went straight to the Golden State Freeway. Mari’s place was at least close to Baker St because of it.

While the silence didn’t bother Gabriel, eventually the driver huffed. She started to fiddle with her phone one handed. “Do you like podcasts?”

He looked up. “What?”

“Podcasts. You know, like… some are talk shows for your phone, some are stories, news stuff.” She glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “I listen to a lot of them myself. Lately I’ve been on a real true crime kick, y’know?”

That was relatable. And also not what he wanted to talk about. He nodded, though, looking back to his phone. Waiting to see that text notification pop up. Waiting to see her photo appear alerting him to an incoming call. Anything.

“I’ve been listening to all kinds. They cover all sorts of things. Serial killers, abductions… it’s gotten so bad I’ve been buying all kinds of ebooks, looking for blogs to read. Kind of an addiction, y’know,  _ papi?  _ You ever get that way with books?”

“Sometimes.” He hoped she liked one word answers. He was definitely going to ignore her calling him  _ papi. _

“My friend reccomended me this blog she follows. I mean there’s so much crime here in LA. But this is like, amateaur investigators?”

“Nancy Drew?” he said. A glance up. Nothing seemed out of place of the direction they were going.

She laughed. “Hardy Boys, maybe. I dunno, friend makes it out to be like the dude’s some kinda… what’s that name.  _ Poy-rot? _ No that’s not right. Some fancy French word…”

Gabriel blinked, remembering watching  _ Murder on the Orient Express _ with Jesse, and how irritated they’d both been by the end of the film, between the premise and the execution. Even one for the classics, Jesse hadn’t cared for it. “It’s pronounced  _ pwa-roh.” _

“Ah! So you know it. Some fictional detective guy. Yeah, apparently there’s one like that in LA.  _ Crazy, _ am I right?”

While he’d been mostly concerned about Mariana until that moment, something about the statement caught him. He lowered his phone and slowly looked up at her. Appraising, now. But she still seemed casual. Unconcerned. “That right?”

“Yeah. I mean, it might all be  _ bullshit, _ you know. But I’m going to check it out. Seems silly… couple of guys solving all these things the po-po can’t even with all their money.”

“Does seem pretty far-fetched.” He was also now very aware of his gun at the small of his back and he shifted a little, eyes turning out the window to gauge where they were and how far it would be to Mari’s place, so he could be away from this… woman. Who now knew where he lived, apparently.

He had no idea where he was. A commercial street. Outside of a Mexican place, by the looks of things. The sidewalk was crowded, too. He’d been so caught up in his own panic and head that he hadn’t been noting every street sign they passed.

“Where are we?” he demanded.

“This is the address you gave me,” she said with a shrug, then showed him the phone. It wasn’t even close to Mari’s.

“It damn well is not!” he snapped.

“I wouldn’t yell at me if I were you.” Her eyes were warning then, before she turned around and nodded her head at the window. “Besides, someone’s here for you,  _ viejo.  _ You sure that’s not who you’re here to meet? _ ” _

There was a hard rap at the window. For a moment Gabriel expected the barrel of a gun to be facing him when he turned, but he wasn’t surprised to see the blue-eyed blonde man looking at him with a wry little smirk on his face. 

_ Shit. I was just played like a fucking idiot. _

That just cemented the ‘get yourself a damn car’ idea.

Dominic opened the door for him, and made a ‘this way’ gesture with his hand, as if he were some kind of butler. The outlaw was a big man, Gabriel noticed at once, as the LA heat flooded into the air conditioned car. And he was ballsy, too. No hat, no nondescript clothing. Just an off-white button down and jeans, as well as his cowboy boots. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to reveal two diamondback snakes, one on each arm, with their mouths opening near the joint of his thumb and forefinger. 

“S’good to see you, Gabriel. Thanks for coming to meet me.”

Couldn’t pull a gun in front of the woman, not without some kind of trouble. Though he knew now she had to be some kind of plant in on it too, or at least paid a lot and given a script. He was caught. 

With a last glance at her - she looked impatient for him to be gone, though not angry or expectant - he got out of the car, and at once played up his limp. He didn’t offer his hand to shake.

Dominic snapped the door shut. He had a few inches on Gabriel easily, and he was powerfully built. “I got a table out on the patio. Let’s get a drink.”

A glance at the Kia - already pulling away - before he pulled his phone. Dominic made a clicking noise in his throat. 

“I’d put that away. Turn it off, even.” His tone was thinly guarded. “Don’t you know it’s rude to have a phone out on a first date?”

“It’s pretty rude to hijack a man.” However, he did stow away his phone. He could adapt. “That text I got. Not real?”

“Not from her anyway. Not  _ technically _ . Mariana  Lòpez is currently with the kids at their favourite swimming pool and she left her phone in her locker. It’s a nice place, full of young and innocent people just trying to have a nice day.” The threat was clear enough without Gabriel demanding proof.

The restaurant was called  _ Mama Conchi’s,  _ and was painted in terracotta orange and deep navy blue. When they walked past the open glass door the scent of grilled meat and fresh tortilla wafted with it. Gabriel wasn’t remotely, hungry, however.

Mariachi music played from a speaker in the corner. They were alone on the patio, it seemed, but Gabriel saw diners just inside at the windows, purposefully casual. He’d need another minute to be sure that man looking at the menu was doing more than waiting for a cue, or that the woman rummaging in her purse was really looking for something, but he knew.

Dominic pulled a chair out from the table for Gabriel. The tabletops patterned in blue and white talavera tile, and someone had already brought fresh chips and salsa. This was the kind of place Gabriel would have come for some casual relaxation. 

“There now. You get comfy, and we’ll have ourselves a nice friendly chat. I’d buy some corona’s, but you look like a tequila guy. Maybe some margaritas?”

With a dark look, Gabriel sat down slowly. “You know I might not kill you now, but since you’ve threatened my sister and her family that means we’re not off to a great start.”

Dominic slipped down into his chair casually, running a hand through his blond locks, touseling them. He had movie star good looks. How he was managing to hide this long, while not being cautious, only lent credence to the idea that he was being backed. 

“Well now, just take it easy.” He snapped his fingers over his head. “We’ll get down to brass tacks in good time.”

A waitress came - likely waiting in the wings with an already full tray - and dropped off water and two margaritas without a word.

Gabriel glanced at the drink before he picked one up and took it for himself. For a moment he considered there was some kind of drug in it, but it was bright out and Dominic preferred his murders violent. Poison would not be his way. No doubt the outlaw would consider it cowardly.

_ This is a warning, _ he figured.  _ Not a murder. _

“So, who talks first?” asked Gabriel, before taking a sip. The place  _ did _ have good margaritas. He appreciated the fact that if this was his last drink they’d used a decent tequila. “Me, you? Because I gotta tell you. Anticlimactic.”

“Mm. Just gettin’ a read on you,” said Dominic, before taking his own drink. “I can see why he likes you. Why he’s… picked you.”

“And why’s that?”

“If it’s not obvious to you, maybe Jesse’s losing his touch.”

“Or maybe he just likes his boyfriends humble.”

He snorted, looking Gabriel up and down. “Man. If he wanted a rough and tumble all he’d ever had to do was  _ ask. _ So what the fuck makes you so special that he went for  _ you _ and just,” Dominic held his hands open, drink tilted, “decided I wasn’t  _ good enough.  _ I mean I looked you up. You’re not  _ boring. _ But you ain’t his people either. And you’ve hardly earned it.”

He sipped his drink again.

Gabriel barked out a laugh. “Is that what this is? Jealousy? You’re jealous?”

Dominic licked some salt from his lip. “Oh it’s way beyond that,” he said. “Don’t be fucking stupid. I just wanted to see for myself what he had before I take it from him.”

He tapped his cane against the ground. The threat wasn’t a surprise. “Is that so?”

Dominic nodded. “I’d like to say ‘nothin’ personal’ but it is. But understand that after you walk away and head back to him and tell him everything I say, dissect how I look, what I’m wearin’ and every other tiny detail that it’ll be no hard feelings. When you die it’ll be for him not for you.”

“And what’s to stop me from just shooting your ass right now?”

Dominic shrugged. “I’m gonna go with ‘because you love your family.’ And not just your sister and her kids. You love that detective, Fareeha Amari, too. You care about the Lindholm’s and all those little kiddo’s that show up at 221A.”

Gabriel’s left hand began to shake. The tremor had gotten better in the last few months, enough so he could often stop it, but just then he had to clench his fist and hold it under the table. 

“You’re well informed.”

“In this day and age? You gotta be.”

“You know I’ll kill you eventually.”

“Maybe. I know your fucked up knee isn’t enough to stop you from being deadly. Enough kills to fill a fuckin book. The  _ Reaper _ , they called you in the Marines. Ain’t that right? You made a lot of widows in Bogota. Lots of fatherless children, too.”

A cold sort of feeling settled into Gabriel then, and he felt his eyes go flat. That name wasn’t something easily found, and certainly not in any file. Someone, somewhere, had talked to someone connected to Dominic O’Brien and spilled that tiny tidbit of information. Someone, somewhere, was a rat. Even Jesse didn’t know that name.

“What do you want?” His voice was empty, body still. He felt his muscles coiling all the same, like he might strike.

“From you? Nothing.” He drained his glass and smacked his lips, making an  _ ‘ahh’  _ of enjoyment as he put the glass back down. The way he moved his fingers made the head of the snake on his hand look alive. “Jesse, though. I’m gonna to burn the heart right outta him. Bit by bit. I want him angry at first. I want him thinkin’ about me, because I’m the one he should be thinkin’ of. And then, when he thinks he’s got you safe, it’ll be a crime scene with your body in it that he’ll have to dissect. That’s when he knows there’s no safe places. And then that’s when he gets his.”

“That so.” He sounded like a monologuing villain. Gabriel supposed he’d had years to plan the speech, anyhow. 

“It is.”

“And where’s this treasure shit come into play?”

“Mmm. The  _ Vishkar Heist _ .” He laughed, then stood up. Gabriel considered kneecapping him. He pulled several folded bills from his pocket and started counting them, before tossing it on the table. “The point of this little endeavour is probably pretty clear to your  _ boyfriend _ by now. And I know it’s clear to Elizabeth Calcedonia Ashe. But it boils down to a simple, hard truth. Something Jesse forgot over the years. You can ask him about it if you want.”

He winked at Gabriel before putting his hands in his pockets and started to whistle  _ Folsom Prison Blues _ with a clear tone. Gabriel watched him until he turned around the corner. 

His phone was vibrating in his pocket, and the sight of Mariana’s picture - she was laughing with the kids - made a little tension unwind in his chest. He answered it, picking up the margarita for another sip.

“Hey.”

“Gabe? Why’d you call so much, is everything okay?”

Truth be told, Mariana’s voice was one of the most welcome sounds in the world, and hearing it let the knot go almost completely.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“I’m fine. Was with the kids at the pool. Elanor’s swimming lessons were today. You sure you’re okay? That was at least seven or eight missed calls.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, thinking about shooting Dominic between the eyes. “I’ll be better soon enough.”


End file.
